From mighty boughs I did fall, my mother proud, ancient and tall.
I travelled by palm from my rural calm...
...to be placed in a pot, and later my own plot.
The decades passed by with no more than a sigh.
Settlers came and went, the cottage no longer for rent.
For the cars that paid, I'd offer my shade.
With shouting chainsaw, you may as well shot me with a gun...
Look, you bloody developers, just look what you've done.
1798 - 2008 RIP...The big old oak cut down in its prime.