Paper Cutter

His flimsy legs are the weak point of the tree
And my steady arm is the handle of the axe
My knuckles being the sharpened end of the weapon
I will swing it once this opponent is clear
And sink into him the edge of the tool
Without a speck of fear
Right when it is most expected of him or anyone
With this in mind
I will get this wood-cutting task done
In half the time
His injured body shall fall as the mighty oak does
And with this rich satisfaction
At my job i will do just fine