that grow their branches high
towards the sky
to gather up the light
and filter it
to flowing shades
of emerald and jade
which reflect upon
the gently rolling waters
of a stream
where happy forest daughters
bathe and dream
pleasant visions
of plentiful provisions.
Of flowers grown to fruits
on shoots that bend down
the branches of the trees,
and pleased,
the daughters freely play.
A sudden shudder in the leaves
breaks them from
their peaceful dreams
to hear a buzzing strange machine
the likes of which they've never seen.
With cold claws it tears
tender trees up from the earth
and shakes the dirt off
as it feeds entire trees
to it's ever chewing teeth,
billowing black coughs
into the air that scare
all the creatures
on the boughs
as they huddle
and watch how
the noble forest daughters
go forward
and are slaughtered
by spinning blades.
And the river runs
red and black
with blood and mud,
turning dreams
of those downstream
into nightmares,
but the machine has no cares
as it bears it's buzzing blades into the trees.
