The men with chainsaws

Crawling, climbing 

Eating, sleeping

Resting, repeating

Everything was fine.

Then came the people

The men with chainsaws

Cutting, processing, repeating

Chopping down my eucalypt home.

Then came the fires

Snaking, smoldering

Filling my lungs with smoke

Turning the last of my home 

To cinders.

Then they came 

The ones who cared

Taking me and my friends away from this scorched land

To a small pocket of greenery

Keeping us safe till they let us go again

Hopefully, never to meet

The men with chainsaws again.