Blue Spruce, tasting; Elms they’re wasting; eating ’cross the land.
Nifty bite, white-teeth smile; they’re wary of boozed hick man.
Fallin’ trees, yeah. They’re gutsy, seekin’ dam site, that’s the plan.
See how they’re stripping, their teeth ripping;
Mighty dammers take a stand.

Teethin’ trees, outlandish glees,
Gnashing thickets, routing rods.*
Hurting ash with a gash;
Trunk bouleversement’s** pretty bad.

Pianos grand could be this stand--
Chips now, this arboretum.
Brook is blocked by sylvan shock;
The turbid flow is doomed. . .a sump.

But oh how they squeal and steal,
Pines to shear. . .an oaken bier.
Toast, that yew—a slew they’re clearing.

Croak that oak, fir, might dammers.
Count the dead pines on your byway.
Lay ’em down those trees you’ve riven;
You've bitten big beeches today.

Spruce juice, tasting; helm the wasting; stream can’t cross, flood land.
Rifty bite, tine-teeth smile; he’s scary, the boozed hick man.
Fallin’ trees, yeah. They’re lusting, seekin’ dam site, ash trepan.
See how they’re stripping, their teeth gripping;
Mighty dammers take a stand.

But oh how they squeal and steal,
Pines to shear. . .a grotesque leer.
Toast, that yew—a slew they’re clearing.

Croak that oak, fir, might dammers.
Count the dead pines on your byway.
Lay ’em down those trees you’ve riven;
You’ve been busy beavers today.


*1 rod = 5.5 yards
**overturning