Timber r r -

As I stand here for 600 years, and survey the landscape , of my foothills and valley, as far as I can see,
Never until recently, there has never been, lights on the horizon, when the sun sets daily, into the sea,
There is a species, I have caught wind of, I have heard from the birds and squirrels, its called humanity,
They have a need , they call it urban sprawl, to fullfill there life dreams, within their society.

To expand and grow, to achieve and succeed, from the bottom to the top, to climb their species ladder,
They need a home, made from my tree bones, to saw and build upon my lands, to them it doesnt matter,
They dont realize, that I inhale their carbon poison, and I exhale out their much needed oxygen,
Maybe someday, when the sky turns finally grey, even inhalers wont supplement air, of times gone and when.

So I stand, and I watch, upon days end horizons lights, as they move across the foothills and up the valley, and grow near,
I watch the scars of clearcuts grow closer, my family is cut down in their progressive thoughtless path, as we do treefully fear,
Until one day, the human came to claim, even the far hill of 600 years from which I stood, watched, breathed, lived, and resist,
To cut down my tree bones, to make many of little homes, for their species, to survive in a box, thrive and exist.

Inevetibly, one morning, the sky lead line yarder came near, with high line and 4 chokers ready to drop set,
The human in a hickory shirt, with his butterknife, did get ready, at my trunk marked with an X, to 2 cycle rip-roar, and blood let,
I felt the notch sting, I felt the backcut burn, I felt the white hot feel, of the chainsaws teeth ripping steel,
I spurt out my blood of xylem and phloem, I cannot believe this is my 600 years of respect I get, this is my end, it is so surreal.

I pass out from the pain, with my last view of the horizon, as Im rushing in the wind, one time, last again,
This time not standing, blowing, swaying in the breeze, but dying as I fall, and bust up and crash down, to remain.
The humans said ' Timber r r ', I guess thats my given human name ?
But my sapling offspring call me ' Hemlock ', and they will repopulate the hillside, to fight back, to once again, reclaim.

D.M. Beebe