TO THE "SILVER FOREST"
(with apologies to Longfellow)

This was the forest primeval! The murmering firs
    and the hemlocks,
Disfigured by careless vandals--scarred and devoid
    of foliage,
Stand as silent reminders: as proof of some human
    imprudence,
Stand like martyrs of old, hushed and grim in the
    twilight.

This was the forest primeval, but where is its
    radiant spirit,
Which for ages before had sheltered and cared for
    its people?
Where is the frollicking chipmunk, the graceful
    deer or the beaver,
Where are the birds whose jubilant notes prevaded
    the woodland?
After they have fled--dislodged from their homes
    in the forest.
Compelled to retreat to safety or remain to a death
    in the flames
Which lashed by the winds into sweltering fury,
    devoured the timber.
For naught but destruction lies in the path of
    a fire!

You, who believe in conserving for constant possession,
You, who include in your heart a love of the wild life--
To refresh YOUR mind and spirit by contact with nature
Watch -- lest you kindle a spark of destruction!

C. F. Brockman