In my youth I would chop down tress

Make all kinds of thing in an attempt

To please that which was pleasing to

The eye to those things I made men

Would cry oh do make me one of these

In my youth I did not see all those things

That relied upon that tree

The birds the bees and bugs that did need

Somewhere to call their home

I did not see the wind as it did take the

Living giving breath that the tree did

Make and so I continued to be me chopping

Down every tree I did see

Now that youth has long left me I look about

And nothing do I see for all has died without

That tree that I did cut down unthinkingly

No birds to fly nor song do sing

No bees do buzz nor dive nor sting

Without that wisdom of the bee there is

No beauty in the flowers to see and thus

I may as well be blind for nothing is there

For me to find in this world that I did make

All that’s left is knowledge of that mistake

I made in my youth of cutting down those trees

If only if only I’d know that would be the end of

Me