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SpineOut : August September 2015
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Narrator As the sun’s rays begin to fade, people enter the houses, made, by the sacrifice of the wonderful trees, now silent, a sacrifice, that’ll forever end our climate. Me I sit in solitude surrounded by trees. I feel the coolness of a spring breeze. Someday this forest may be replaced, without a whisper, without a trace. From this world, the green may be gone, no green to light up, to shine, at dawn. No animals that run around and play, they will be gone, why would they stay? The P.O.V. of a Tree They cut us down and burn us for heat, or chop us up for, a seat. We are almost gone, there are few of us left, you stole our lives, it is theft. Is there no one left to convince these creatures? That we’re not meant to be human features. But they have already brought their axe near, they will not listen they will not hear, our pleas and cries for you to stop you won’t listen, you’ll proceed to chop. But as we beg you one last time, to think what you’re doing, it’s a crime. Think of a world without any trees, think of a world without a breeze, of choking, coughing, poisonous air, a world where trees are very rare. So when you next pull out your axe, just remember all the facts, about a world that has no fresh breeze, about a world with no beautiful trees. Listen to the Voices of the Trees Listen to the Voices of the Trees Poetry Xander, Year 9 Hunter Valley Grammar School Ashtonfield NSW
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