Someone said I write of trees.
I am sure the last marksman in the woods is glad of my coverage,
for the news is untrustworthy
and days are dark.
No scandal lurks under the bark,
save a beetle avoiding my wrath
since he chewed a path directly through the center of my strawberry.
The resident genius here says it smacks of pioneer living,
reaping the fruit of the land, swilling it down, seeds be damned.
Tall as a tree himself,
the last comedian in the woods
is amply supplied with marshmallows...and sticks,
wanting only for his company of fellows,
to start the show.