Deforestation

A poem for a Writer's Cramp contest

Deforestation

High above and built with mud,
Homes laid low and filled with blood,
Never raised - only spilled,
Lines cut – spirits chilled.

We wear our proud masks and remember
Five days mid-September
In between autumn leaves,
Brought down with the cool breeze.

Helped along by terrible machines,
Driven on by ghastly fiends,
Now we see them all around us
Living nightmares that confound us.

The trail we blaze
And those we call on –
Remember
In five short days,
Our beautiful trees were gone.


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