The dulcet tones of the chainsaw
Breaks the cacophony of cicada
Worshipping the heat

The winds have felled
Yet more of the tree
The dead, the dying, the dangerous

More work to do, the list is endless
The willing hand, the empty purse
The excavator roars to life

The generator adds to the din
The shovel, the saw
The crunch of timber

The man-made fire
Continues to consume
Our time, our money, our minds

The acres of wire and wood
That need repair
The hedge, that retaining wall

My willing neighbour
Always at the ready
Helping with the load

I wish to join the fight
And help restore what's left
But work with self employ

Prevents my time at best
The weekend is all I have
For effort, sweat and grime

The mess, the weeds
The scorn of it
The many tree to replant

Its a funny thing
You work to live, live to work
I'm not sure what I do

I need time for it
To restore what's mine
I need a load of sleep

I want it back, as it was
Before my time was taken
By the beast, that is
That was