Whatever happened to Treebeard?
He’s chopped up in my woodshed
his limbs stacked in neat piles
his head is now my chopping block
his dead eyes stare for miles.
His fingers are all kindling
his toes a rack of logs
while all the bark from off his trunk
is bedding for my dogs.
But what of Treebeard’s wisdom
and courage in the fight?
They’re gone to fill the legends
that warm our souls at night.
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Author:
FrasMac (
Offline) - Published: July 13th, 2026 13:15
- Comment from author about the poem: I was cutting sticks in my garden when this idea floated into my mind.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
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