Oh, Yews to kill,
Rapacious [in]cis[ors],
For Aspen laid on plain,
For purgin’ mountains of their trees—
We love to chew, a bane.
A mer to fill, a mer to fill—
Logs dead, strip-shaved by me.
And crowns are good. . .
Knit rugged wood.
Come see the wid’ning sea.

Oh, Spruce to kill, fill kill with trees
With stems dentally stressed.
It’s wood, our fare, we freely seize
The crops of wilderness.
A mer to fill, a mer to fill—
Chops rend ’em like a saw.
A scourge, we stroll among lodgepole
Pines through which we have gnawed.

Yews, Spruce to kill—whole rows removed;
We strip them of their life.
I’ll score an Elm—it’s comfort grub.
I work ’longside my wife.
A mer to fill; our share to kill—
We’re gnawing all the time.
We count success land’s barrenness
In this and every clime.

Oh, sluice to fill. . .abate the stream—
Beneath the dam: near sere.
For Al, disaster, and his team
Whose pasture lands are near.
Our mer to fill; Al’s there to kill. . .
Glock spent after his spree.
His aim was good; we’d plundered wood—
Deceased now all are we.