Damming in the park—trees have chewed ends.
They’re damaging the park—see that yew bend.
They’re chomping on the woodlands, and pines they shear;
high ones now lie; once here, they’re gone.

Brook was once quite slight, running through mud;
it’s now a mighty bight made by chew buds.
Then they can taste the new twigs so tender,
damming in the dark.

Cut, though trunks are old. . .
to dam site they’re rolled,
on one another hung.

Hear them start on pine;
soon it is supine.
Clear cuts near where a deer struts.

Looking on this blight, we see skewed trunks;
penetrating sunlight . .bark-stripped nude trunks.
At least we need not worry ’bout embers
dancing from a spark.