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First Line: The vast green-sworded army of the firs
Last Line: A great tree crashes downward to its death.
Subject(s): Lumber & Lumbering; Woodsmen


The vast green-sworded army of the firs
Advancing with their spears thrust at the sky
Stood at attention with the universe
As Time on hooves of centuries rode by;
And pausing, in that moment sealed their fate,
For rooted, like the laggard wife of Lot,
They stand upright beneath the felling weight
Of years, their march abandoned and forgot.
Today, men sweating, swing a ruthless axe,
And chip by chip the work of centuries undo;
A creaking... signal for renewed attack...
And space divides -- the tree goes plunging through.
"Timber!" Clear rings the cry. Time holds its breath:
A great tree crashes downward to its death.





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