Arbors: where Hy loves to go;
he’s happy where there’s traffic, no.
Life there’s slow,
and there are no curs, so Hy feels fine.

Arbors are so fine, you know,
with fresh air and sunshine, you know,
so let’s go!
Out there with the fir and stately pine.

Hy’s so glad in arboreal worlds;
he’d be said if from them he was hurled.
So Hy’s got his saw, ready to go;
once Hy start, he will not go slow.
Hy’s read Poe’s
poem about a bird that spoke rhymed lines.

Many lines are apropos
to sylvan scenes; Hy guesses so;
he read mo’
’bout that taking bird, squawking in rhymes.

That poem’s sad, so down the book Hy hurled.
He’ll be glad when he’s out in the world
where those great trees majestically grow.
Hy’s a klepto, just so you know--
and schizo.
Hy’s in love with fir, but Hy steals pine.

Yew! Blue Spruce!