What limber little monkeys are the lithe,
bare armed lumberjacks.

With claw shoes and straps of stout rope,
up the rotting trunks they clamber.

Snap! Crackle! Pop! Crash!
Down come the dry dead branches.

Their days in the sun are finished-
how like our frail human selves they are,
these lofty trees.

Whoa! There went a big-un!

“Yup! Yup!” cry the tree men.

Blam! There comes another! And another!
The earth trembles with their mighty falling.

“Yip yup!”
“Yap!”
The secret language of the lumberjacks.

Now the giant pieces fall to earth like
thunderous raindrops.

Crash! Thud! Brzzz! Crash!

The forest reverberates with the cacaphony
of the woodsman’s sober craft.