We’ve had a cypress growing where one never should have been,
It battled for existence, never beautified the scene,
And loved to send out branches which would catch you unawares –
They’d conk you on the noggin as you tried to use the stairs.
Reluctantly, I finally got faithful chainsaw out,
The match would be me versus tree, to matchwood it to rout,
And I emerged victorious, though bleeding here and there
As victim of some pointy bits, where took too little care.
The clearing-up a mission which then took me quite a whiles,
But finally I had it all reduced to neat-ish piles,
Where larger chunks go to a friend who likes to work with wood,
And most of rest for firewood may prove to be quite good.
© July 2016 Colonialist (WordPress)