by Treebeard
Some time ago I began to wonder how snowmobiliers dared to pass through my woods so freely. Only lately did I guess a small Bush was to blame, and that long ago his father, the "Great Bush," had been spying out all the ways, and discovering a means to disparage myself and my fellow trees. He and his foul folk have been making havoc ever since, burrowing their wicked tracks through Yellowstone, and spoiling our air with unregulated canisters of fire. Brm, hoom! Good trees, these, and the many others that breathe laboriously under the mischief of this little Bush. So remote is his wisdom in living things, he sways to power like a sapling to the sun; and like evil he fashions himself under the banner of the righteous and the good, while in truth his purpose is carried on a fell wind.
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