its girth was wide five hundred years
its arms stretched up to the skies
beneath its branches a world appears
with beasts and fish and flies

it brought succour for millions,
the strangers and civilians,
beneath its shade green grass blades
'twixt bluebells in the glade

its succulence gave cornucopia
luxurious utopia
full fruits of every variety
all bursting with vitality

fresh water flowed beneath its boughs
pure and sweet and clear
it quenched the thirst of young and old,
the far-flung and the near

and in its trunk lay secret gold,
a sawdust to be prized,
it housed the life of worlds untold,
within its bark disguised

one day with saw black hooded man
made one nick, a small 'un,
and from the midst of golden wood
flowed nectar bright and good

and man begot a friend
till nick became a chasm,
as they carried on the trend
with cold enthusiasm

from round about came small voice
telling them to quit
while they still had the choice
but they couldn't care a whit

it's only a small mark
we're making in the bark,
this tree will stand forever
no need to stop endeavour

and each year they sawed deeper
into the depths of tree
until one day they saw the reaper
rubbing hands with glee

with horror they did jump away
away from living tree
but now the trunk did wave and sway
it teetered dangerously

we'll do no more, we'll stop the cut,
they cried out in effusion,
but the case was closed, closed and shut
with no other conclusion

the tree came crashing down,
its leaves and boughs and branches,
no more did it wear its crown
no more its fruits advances

and darkness spread over the land
desolation for five hundred years,
abject misery fanned by hand
of those who cry no tears