They went through the woods
in worn out shoes
to pick a life no one should,
to make a choice no other’d choose:

To defend the trees,
their roots, their spires -
even the leaves
were deeply admired.

So they took up their arms,
and sharpened their sticks;
they sounded the alarms,
and marched into the thick.

And all around them were burnt-out stumps,
fallen branches and logs.
Smoke tainted their virgin lungs,
and they knew they had to right the wrongs.

Then into the heart they slowly crept,
wielding their sharp tools;
They found where the Fires hid and wept,
and they pounced on him like childish fools.

Their tools of wood burned,
as would the whole of their world,
and for Ice they yearned
just before their eyes rolled back like pearls.