Miss Julia Hill, perched high in a tree,
Sans the vaunted privacy to defecate and pee,
As Humboldt County’s elevated arboreal celebrity
A Paragon become : of Ecological Integrity.
Seven hundred-odd days nesting in Luna’s soaring heights,
Attentive to the echoes of the lumberjacks’ ravenous bites,
Bird song and chain saws your exclusive diurnal chorus,
Discerning the hard way that plywood’s very porous
If bombarded by El Nino rains and frigid rumbustious gales
Surely less privations in trying to Save the Whales.
Your radical picket, Butterfly, for sure unique in number,
Yet such minor inconvenience to the fiendish Pacific Lumber.
Of Moral Right are destitute, but the Law is on their side
To butcher old growth forests with swathes deep and wide;
Nice their stifled conscience is galvanized by tree huggers
Such pity you’re regarded as an eccentric bunch of buggers.