I know the people of Sheffield are fed up with the tree saga, but I just found this poem in an old book that was my mother’s:
Who will save the trees of England?
Save them from the woodman’s hand?
Who will save the glorious trees that
Grace and green our lovely land?
Timber, timber cries the builder,
But we too have needs and rights –
We who love the shady glade,
The stately park, the wooded heights.
We who love the oaks and beeches,
We who weep to hear the axe
Echoing in land and copse
And ringing down the forest tracks.
We whose joy it is to wander
Where the dappled pathways wind.
Mark the scars and watch the grief
The swift destruction mad and blind.
Speak! All you who would preserve
The beauty of our native scene.
You who love the sylvan groves
Of ancient woodland cool and green.
Raise a cry that will be heard
From Berwick to the Channel seas.
Call a halt to the despoilers.
Speak and save our English trees.