Don’t get your socks all in a bunch. They are only words, right?
I am a tree–felled by ax, thunder storms or bad ideas.
Mainly boys, carve into my bark. Ouch!
Don’t they know I bleed?
The uncut tree numbers are less each year,
leaving no bark to carve.
The shade is disappearing.
So, I will plant me in a well-stocked sub or pod
with all the tress I love and we will float away.