There once was naught but fields of flax,
The pickers roved and filled their sacks,
They bruised their knees and broke their backs,
But now there’s only trees.

I knew a little village near,
The laughter lingers, can you hear?
A remnant of its folk, I fear,
For now there’s only trees.

I loved a girl, I bought a ring,
She’d wander o’er the hills and sing,
What happiness our love would bring;
No more; there’s only trees.

We saw the forest closing in—
A spruce, a larch, the trunks were thin,
I scratched my head, I rubbed my chin;
I sighed, they’re only trees…

And then we woke to find a grove
Concealing us, our town, its trove,
I felt the fear the forest wove
Around us—only trees.

With axe and saw we tried to hew;
They bled and shrieked—the birch and yew,
They spilled their vines and then we knew,
But how? They’re only trees.

Some pulled the innards, slick with rot
And manic, tied the loop and knot,
They tossed them high the branches caught;
They joined the lonely trees.

Now, bowers creak beneath their weight,
A gallows town, our dismal fate,
The forest came to wipe our slate;
Our town now—only trees.

That was a fortnight’s time ago,
The ankles sway, I weep below,
My darling was the last to go
And now there’s only me.