in the sky, under the collar,
chop a tree, make a dollar.
Holla!
No doubt, some, rather
than standing firm would
be offended on behalf of the tree,
ignoring the wood,
ignorant of the roots
of this complex, leaf-littered mere.
Autumn is here,
the tree long gone, yet shackled
to a point of no return.
They yearn,
still offended on behalf of the tree,
the wood demolished,
the axeman admonished.
Free, yet shackled,
on behalf of a tree long gone,
they'll never learn.
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