Ode to the Lorax

I am the Onceler. I spoke for the board.                     

I spoke of good commerce. I spoke to the horde.

Who’d wanted our products, in burgeoning amounts. 

Who’d wanted the Truffula, investment accounts.

Who’d wanted overstock, of a dwindling supply.

Who’d wanted knit clothing, when winter drew nigh.

Who’d wanted the beach wear; who’d wanted nice boots.

Who’d wanted underwear inside outerwear suits.

Whose demand was unending, though supplies had run gaunt.

Our counters recommending, we pare back our flaunt,

But business was BOOMING; t’was no going back.

The job slots were filling; we’re bathing in BLACK!

Only one vexing problem…each Truf grove was thinning.

Stump-cutters cut, while each loom was spinning.

We’d overgrazed orchards, while workers were quitting.

We’d fudged all our annuals, while stocks were splitting.

Today wastelands lay, where once there were forests.

Ghost-towns sprang up, where once there were tourists.

We were a serpent, that ate all its prey.

We ate our own tail; in the sandlot we lay.

Devouring until we had rent inside out.

Spilling our insides outside in a gout.

I am the Onceler I speak for the trees.

Butterflies, pill bugs, the dogs and their fleas.

I speak for the Lorax and a once frozen heart.

Exchanging, we’re back now, from whence we did start.

∞