It is a cruel world

With swords made of gold,

Thoughtlessly cutting down trees

To find more money beneath

Without realizing that in those branches

Are eyes a thousand years old

Filled with life more precious than gold.

As a little tree

Struggling to breathe,

Straining to grow,

A gloomy future waits for me.

I have the ability,

But that sword keeps swinging,

Hindering me considerably.

Others pay it off,

Yet some are fighting it,

Breaking a few branches,

Losing a couple of leaves,

But a lost arm is a reminder

That I still have one more to lose.

It is a cruel world,

But it is also a world full of tree stumps

That will never be sold.