sews his roots deep
to protect against storms
winds
and other things
that endanger him
but what defense has he
against someone who
has come to hew
and maim?
a shiny pretty axe
seeking to see
the rings at his core
his bark can only stop so much
before it can't stop anymore
cold iron
swings through cold air
and nibbles his now naked skin
it's getting in
slowly
surely
despite his best efforts
he tries to stand steady and firm
but every little nip
makes him quiver and shake
and soon the nips and nibbles
hurt just a little more
either he's getting weaker or
the gentle pecks
have become bites
whittling away at his might
he feels her chipping away at his middle
meddling away in his insides
and his pride
it had weathered the weather
and all the elements
everything mother nature's hatred
could throw at him
and here was a simple tool
whittling away at his being
so it could see the middle
it was nearly done
this tree that was to axe
as man is to gun
one more swing
and the world is met with the echoing
of two clunks
the broken axe head
lands yards away
as the tree lands in a harder way
both broken
they should never have spoken
the touch of one
meaning death for two
the lumberjack walked away and looked back
"that was probably best for you."
but the trees leaves
never saw who he was talking to
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