Of eucalyptus trees that sprout
Upon the Thinker's left
We've now a dearth. There's not a doubt:
Of them we've been bereft.
O pruners over-zealous! How
Could you so cruel be?
It clears the view, but really, now,
It's murder on the tree!
Our hopes of summer shade you drown
In quite a bitter cup.
How dare you chop the verdure down!
How could you mulch it up?
"Don't think we've overthrown the trees:
Our deed's not as you've feared.
The terms you use are shocking. Please:
They're just re-engineered!"
Originally published in SUL News Notes, January 13, 1995.
c 1995, 1996 Fleabonnet Press for the author.