acres of books poor, trees savaged because of their looks and their usefulness to humanity.
Poor trees formed into something that they were not meant to be,
oh, how I revel in your murder with everything that I read,
and I do not feel guilty, but I should really,
and it is the same text upon my computer screen,
and if all books were to stop being produced tomorrow,
I probably would get used to reading them digitally quite easily,
but I guess I am set in my ways,
but a change is good if we are to breathe more easily,
and maybe I will after all, stop taking part in the murder of trees.