The Axe and the Forest
Even as the forest grew thin and frail,
The trees kept cheering the axe.
For the axe was cunning — smooth with speech,
And wore a handle carved from their flesh.
It whispered, “I am one of you,”
And they believed —
As the sound of chopping became their anthem,
And their roots trembled beneath their faith.
They fell, one by one,
Singing loyalty to their destroyer —
Until the forest was gone,
And only the axe remained,
Lonely, with nothing left to cut.
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