Hands off Ferny Forest


By Ian David Robertson

Aunty Meg was known to be
A character of guile and wit
She clambered down the ol’ gum tree
With purpose, style and fierce true grit

Machinery of golden glint
Stood idle neath the cooling shade
For Meg was chasing hard newsprint
Her fur was up, she was afraid

Grey men slouched, smoking, standing down
Against the eucalyptus breeze
With plans to strip the emerald gown
By slaying old defenceless trees
Meg’s face contorted in a frown
She began to drop sweet green faeces

A meaner man of girth and blow
Barked orders at a furious pace
Aunty Meg had found her foe
T’was time to end this sad disgrace

Her first warm olive struck his eye
He stumbled back, but didn’t fall
As dozens more began to fly
The grey men shaped up for a brawl
Woodland missiles filled the sky
The forest boomed a frightening squall

A crowd appeared of goodly folk
With camera in determined hand
An ordinary caring bloke
Yelled, “Please leave this clean Koala land!”

The madness ceased, the wood grew still
And on the forest’s ferny floor
The grey men cast their eyes, until
The crowd let out a joyous roar

A dignitary of good intent
Stood tall with orders held up high
His purpose was from heaven sent
His presence they dare not deny
For wildlife should not pay the rent
To them, man’s greed does not apply

Aunty Meg is now a star
A shining light high in the gum
Good people travel from afar
By all accounts, there’s more to come

They crane their necks up high to see
How one so small, brought such a fight
To forest folk, a humble tree
Is home, is life, it is their rite

And so, the forest’s ferny floor
Gathers its leaves with gentle grace
It’s what the trees were put here for
A quiet time, a quiet place
And Meg, has joey number four
To fight the fight, well… just in case

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