I think trunks are only good for stakin’ swales. . .
Rend and drop an elm—it’s heavenly.
Trunks I’ve got aplenty
Dammin’ up a stream.
Dent. appointment haunted all my dreams.

Like a saw, my face, ’cause I’m a big beaver—
Not a trace of oak left behind.
I slit trunks, I’m a big beaver,
I couldn’t leave fir if I tried.

I think trunks are more, not less, for-rippin’ things.
Streams that pour. . .I place branches till blocked.
For that Spruce no pinin’;
It can’t feel no pain.
If I’ve bleeding gumlines, I’ll refrain.

Like a saw, my face, ’cause I’m a big beaver—
Got a taste of oak in my mind.
My chick’s skunk, I’m in her beaver,
But I won’t cleave ’er from behind.