Don't Chop Us Down

A forest filled with oak trees,

A home to birds and their families.

Some trees are young or thousands of years old,

Surviving the hot and the cold.

As I walk down the dirty path,

I hear a sound that stops my heart.

Men with chainsaws, some with an axe.

Trees, I warn, you’re in for attack.

After weeks of clicks and clogs,

I see huge piles of wooden logs.

Those trees were the heart of the sea and sky,

I thought as I started to cry.

Now that the bugs have nowhere to creep,

And the baby koalas have nowhere to sleep,

And now that I’m drowned by the bulldozing sound,

The heart of the forest can no longer be found.