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po·et lau·re·ate [ˌpōət ˈlôrēət]

Noun

1. an eminent poet traditionally appointed for life as a member of the British royal household.

— a poet appointed to, or regarded unofficially as holding, an honorary representative position in a particular country, region, or group:

"the poet laureate of young America"

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Wednesday, October 14, 2026

TREES

The tree stands universally strong and tall in its majestic essence,

A clear indication of Mother Nature's wisdom and common sense.

Its woody presence, well-sculptured and dressed in bright leafy clothes

Is sprinkled with heavenly nectar from the clouds as it upward grows.

And as it is drawn to the bosom of the warming sun and its bright light

It breathes life-refreshing photosynthesis every day and every night.

And in the extreme heat of the noonday sun it gives ample aid

By providing a breezy umbrella of protective and cooling shade.

And in the context of the freezing and miserable clime of a wintery zone

It provides firewood for warmth, and lumber to build a log cabin home.

The tree as you can readily see

Is Mother Nature's most wonderful gift to us,

And if we reject it and throw it under the bus,

We will very soon be

Living a life of misery.

As food that the farmer in his open fields grows

Will without tree protection as everyone knows

Be destroyed by severe winds or by dried out breeze

As the trees cease to be and are environmental absentees.

If thusly, the balance of nature is upset

You may for sure your bottom dollar bet

That if by man's hands, the trees are no more,

Mother Nature will be sure to even the score.

The Downside to Trees

Dear Larry

There is a downside to certain trees,

When they cause me to sneeze and wheeze.

Their pollen spreads with each gentle breeze,

Gleefully climbing into my nose,

Causing my breathing passages to close.

So what good is that fucking tree,

If I am dead, and can no longer see?

Most trees are good, I will admit,

But some are just not worth shit,

"Which ones are they?" you will query,

They are the deadly olive, and fruitless mulberry.

So enjoy your trees my poetic friend,

As long as they do not cause, an untimely end.

Signed: The Plastic Surgeon.

Wrong Again There Is No Downside to Trees

It's not the gentle and lovely tree

That causes you so much misery.

It's not the hated airborne pollen

That's making you feel so solemn.

So, this I sympathetically to you propose

What every good plastic surgeon knows.

You'd have much more relief if your nose

Was a much smaller intake hose.

TREES