On the high toadstool, the frogs and fairies scheme, A plan to end the bird's morbid theme, Alas, the log has fallen in the stream,
Destructive currents carried it away, Crickets say, tis truly a rainy day, And skies to the caterpillar are grey,
Fallen trees connect for joy or to spoil Dreams that inhabit once great private soil, Either friendships or connections boil,
Yet the crows and the high soaring sparrows Laugh at them, a series of crescendos, Ground dwellers listen to tainted echoes,
Cackles of "We can see beyond our beaks, You are all limited to petty leaps, And folly attempts at crossing vast creeks"
Then a great realization is reached, The forest's sanctity we have impeached. A song sung: Robins and pixies alike, We don't need to wait for lightning to strike,
Unity we preach from across rivers, The ballad we proclaim is within us, Direction, the wood always delivers, It isn't a looming task we need discuss,
And the ones that fly into the zenith, Will come walk among us on this green earth, In dear time our unified cause will yield, Peace from this beautiful woodland we shield.