The Pine Beetle Clear Cut|
Pushing a dozen cows on a forest trail,
Strung out and moving slow,
Until we broke out into a clear cut,
That weren’t there ten days ago.
“Them sure must be fast loggers,”
(I was talking to my horse)
As she stared in dumb amazement,
And gave no reply of course.
The cows ambling down the littered trail,
Did not seem to know or care,
That the whole darn forest had disappeared
But it sure confused the mare.
She snorted and danced and tossed her head,
She was fearful and alert,
In case what ever grazed down all them trees,
Wanted a pony for dessert.
Other articles by Mike Puhallo