Eau-damming joy! The pines, the pines are falling
in glade and glen, and then bark off is pried.
The Gum are gone and all the bowers are dying.
Rip Yew, strip Yew and lay them upon their side.

Water’s held back, inundating the meadow;
the valley’s where it soon is gonna go.
For farmers gazing straight across their hedgerows,
no damming joy, no damming joy in their hearts grows.

“Must be undone, what those beavers are trying,”
is their response, then they seek TNT
to blast and send those twigs, sticks, and logs flying,
because their weal lies in dry property.

They have no fear, reaching the periphery,
but the beavers are clever as can be.
It’s not just at damming they are persnickety—
they set the snare for unawares: castorstrophe [sic]
and trap saps who now gird the work structurally.