DON'T do it. Can’t you read? Take your cutting instruments somewhere else.
I am part of this land and have lived here for many years, over a hundred in fact.
I have a sign on my belly that says do not cut. Did none of you ever learn of my value in the great scheme of things.
My friends know my value. I am home to many birds, insects and a few of the reptilian creatures that climb into the safe haven that I provide.
I am fire proof and I produce very nice white flowers with nectar for the birds and bees.
They won’t be able to find a home if you keep cutting us down and leaving huge empty spaces where there are no refuges for them.
Take a few of my branches if you must. I create nice wood for furniture, railway carriages and boat building and will continue to do so if you leave me to grow.
This land is big enough for all of us and our branches reach out and encourage the rains that are needed for all of us to survive.
I haven’t complained when people come along and cut into me to create a lasting memory with their initials. Even though it hurts a bit I can survive that.
By the way my name is Tuart or Eucalyptus Gomphocephala and my address is Western Australia.
I am fairly tall and grow to 40 feet tall but my main height comes from my large dense spreading branches and I only live in a coastal belt that runs from Cervantes North of Perth down to Busselton.
Many of my family have been destroyed already by your cutting machines and soon we could be extinct even though we are supposed to be a protected tree.
These people have no concept of what they are killing and I wonder if in years to come they will regret the errors they have made.
Not only are they killing my family but the many small friends that use us as a safe and secure place to call home.
Oh no, I can feel the bite of the machines already and it seems I was right in my assumption that reading isn’t one of their strong points as they are cutting through me right next to the ‘do not cut down’ sign.
I am losing my balance and my top half is starting to fall already as it’s the heavy part of me with all of it’s branches hung with leaves.
I hope my little friends have all escaped and that they find another home.
All the rings of my birthdays are being sliced through one by one and it hurts.
I am toppling over now and will lie on the ground that has fed me for all these years.
My roots will be dug out of their resting place by another heavy machine and what there is left of me will be taken and chopped and left to dry out.