Poem by Barry Donchi

I stood astride the ranges four hundred years or more,
My limbs reach out to fight for light and make me forest lord.
From hungry ground I drew my blood to quench a fiery thirst,
The granite rocks around me - my roots smashed into earth.

They came with sombre faces - had murder in their eye,
Cursing as they fought me - swore I would surely die.
Dark was near "farewell my mates" - I thundered to the ground,
And swore an oath - "four hundred years - still my soul will be around.

Dawn was fresh - they stripped me bare - lopped me at the crown,
I kicked and wrenched and twisted - they cleaved me up the heart.
Squared me into sections - two big hand spans by five,
Don't gloat you forest butchers for I am still alive.

Ten thousand tons a week I bore as a staunch on in a bridge,
Across the Kiewa river - far from my native ridge.
And down the years I fought the loads and twisted bucked and kicked,
"You've worked my hard you bastards, but I am never licked'.

Treat me gentle now - with reverence- for I've surely done it tough,
Of bucking twisting fighting, I've really had enough.
A long grand table, this time, is my final place of rest,
Proud that I'm still classed - a king among the best.

Take me, share me, love me, help keep away the tears
I'll be true to your family for at least three hundred years.