Trees sans leaves are quite a tweet for wandering warblers cuz branches can no longer nettle them by leaving sharp surprises upon perchy places.
As well, company of photosynthesising panels did bother bouquets of birby brethren suffering as ochlophobists of the avian persuasion.
But, now that sticks of thicks are all that can be seen, what if a logger—not considerate of anyone else’s nagar—decides to hop into a chopping frenzy?
Well, upon the acme, where twiggy arm closest to poking clouds does twitch, sounds a song of compassion-mercy to any folks below:
Chirp-chirp—hear my new song.
Chirp-chirp —uplift your heart.
Chirp-chirp—let me now live.
Chirp-chirp—while you do part.
Chirp-chirp—please, remmy notes.
Chirp-chirp—in your voiced head.
Chirp-chirp—for cheerful joy.
Chirp-chirp—plants hope instead. ; )