Christmas Mountains
by: Irene Doyle 

We were up with the sun
To board our small bus
For the Christmas Mountains
There were twenty of us.

Through mud, fog and ruts
Twas a rough rocky road
En route to the woods
To the tree "mother-lode".

Naturalists to your rescue
We'll see what can be done
To save your pristine nature
Virgin mountains, here we come.

Along comes the chief forester
Expounding in his glory
Brainwashing and programming:
Promote the company story.

Their talk is of "regrowth",
"Select cutting" and "buffers"
Their practice: clear-cutting
That fast fills the coffers.

We're shown their machines
How they work, how trees fall
Doing work of ten men
In no time at all.

Next down to the falls
Where few humans have been
What a breath-taking sight
This country we live in!

But how long will it last
Just how long will it take
For them to acknowledge
They've made one more mistake.

They've made many mistakes
Those were all in the past
Now they have all the answers
To make sure our forests last.

Though large tracts be depleted
Save for buffers here and there
Our woods will soon regenerate
With management and care.

When jobs and old growth are all gone
Woods workers will proclaim
Such a rapid rate of harvest
The land could not sustain.

"On Dasher, on Dancer,
On Prancer and Vixen,
On Comet, on Cupid,
On Donner and Blitzen"

To the top of these mountains
To the top of them all
Cut away, cut away
Cut away at them all.

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