A Letter to Mr. Gale

Dear Mr. Gale, I envy thee
To have come across one such a tree
Mother of the Forest, a befitting name
But just for spite and all the same

She rose beneath the morning sky
Reaching many hundreds high
A fancy slithered in your ear
That all the other filth would hear

So you rallied up some five men
Dragged them to your feral den
Heaved them off with ax and saw
Roiled in the mass's awe

They took to their iron and peeled her skin
To thee t'was such a lofty win
With their tools they chopped and sheered
Beat her once for every year

With Her body bruised and bare
The final swing, a ten-eyed stare
They breathed relief at the timber call
Gave no damn to see her fall

'Tis a shame you're dead and gone
In the Earth where you belong
And to thee whom proved so brave
A tree to rest atop your grave