ARBOREOUS REVOLUTION.

He was just under one hundred and fifty
When he assumed he would fall away swiftly;
For his height was much worse than his bark,
And his treasures remained in the dark,
And the carbon dioxide did not taste as pure
As it once used to do,
When he spread, in his youth,
All the roots he’d laid down in the park.

The feudal system of afforestation
Was caught tendering its resignation,
And the news from the nearest field
Was confirmed by the fact that the yield
Had declined every year with the wane of the breeze,
As the once numerous seed
No longer agreed
With the occupants of the old guilds.

The implicit result was insulting but clear,
And his tethered restraints withered in a year;
For the strength in his veins was easily sapped
As water withdrew and dry outcroppings snapped,
And as autumn removed all his leaves for the last time,
He packed up his lime,
And with fateful resign
Awaited the final collapse.

But the end, in the end, was no felling as such,
As only his uppermost branches were touched,
And within a few seasons he became the new fashion
As primates all over the land restored rations,
Whilst fallows around him began propagating,
And with little debating,
And renewed rotovating,
He regained all his previous passion.