The Forests Speak

For the Tasmanian Forests

In my slow growing long lasting huon
There are the stories of your grandfather’s hands
And gaze taking me all in

I carry you in my arms to the safety of Earth mother to
Shield you from storms and yet you would
Forget
I belong to your children and grandchildren

Would you unfriend my many shades of green
Lime and moss on rolling hills
See them parched yellow crying
Stripped pine

Would you delist me from your protection
Hold me at a distance
Forget that I am your breath
Forget my distinct scent
In timber in new life as your love seat

Would you let me be overharvested
So people of today are the last ones
To say they saw the Ancients
Who had to make way for too many tree farms

Together we braved the tempest
Of droughts and fires
And as we survive should…