Under the greeny shed,
When I made my bed,
The earth lap where I held my head,
Was when I saw those leaves shed.

Slightly-slightly, look they fell,
To visit where the grasses dwell.
Did they do anything, kind-a spell?
Or the moon glows them like a jewel?

I sat completely mute,
Air whistling like a flute,
Leaves dance, cheers the fruit,
Sharing their joy with root.

Look up! They form the hands of trees,
Waiting to catch the thief.
The thief who stole their ease,
And seized them with grief.

The one who spread the suggestion,
That cutting trees is fun,
This idea now must run,
Beause nature’s coming with gun.

Will it be the last sight of beauty?
If we don’t, nature will follow its duty.
Disease, disasters and calamity,
Be aware humans! Else it’s only and only tragedy.