The election is dusted
And tne wood-cutters too
New forest tracks have emerged
The lonely voice of the cuckoo
Echoes my wandering footsteps
Roaming around the dog is happy
The forest is not refreshed
Despite the rain and some green oasis
The soil is parched and sterile
Attacked by man, vermin and age
Trees don't stand a chance
And die laying or standing
Sunset and the crickets mob emerge
Their voices in unison
Lament the forest devastation.
Lucette C. Bailliet
All rights reserved
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