The Oak Tree

the oak tree was planted, the years have gone by, magnificent specimen, grown high towards the sky, a home for the blue bird, who feeds its young brood, and sings songs of happiness, while they eat their food, the noise becomes louder, as two trucks come near, someone shouts “stop, let’s get this one here”. with power saws humming, the cutting begins, the oak tree is listing, then falls as it spins, the blue bird has flown, the brood has been crushed, the tree has been loaded, the truck now has rushed, towards town, where the mill has been waiting, where men soon will start fabricating, the table, the chair, and the door, we use every day, by the score, but nature will one day reclaim, when useless, they’ll be set aflame, to warm a log cabin, constructed of wood, where once a young family, of blue birds once stood.