Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! they all sang the song of death,
Swinging away at the trees their axes shone,
Every single tree they hacked with every breath,
Falling down the forest around a tree lone,
They left because it was rotting anyway,
It had nothing to offer them on that day,
No wood, leaves, or fruit, with wretched arms it stared,
The dead tree lived, but they stripped the forest dead.
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A Speech Therapist by profession, an avid reader and mother to a teen and a tween, whose penchant for stories made her a writer. She loves to read and write fiction and poetry.
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