Out here at the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows

the Once-lers came chopping,

early,

before I arose.

The landowners lied, there would be no buffer strip...

then again; I could choose no trees to be skipped...

and again; without a word, trees from my yard they ripped.

They lied without guilt and in no time at all the whole Once-ler family was working full tilt!

Well sir, it didn't take long, above the din of the saws, the thud of dead lumber and the crunch and rumble
of their hideous skidding machines, I heard a ga-Zump!

It was sort of a man. He was shortish and oldish.

And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and boldish.

"I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees."
He said to the Once-lers, "You're crazy with greed"
but they did not hear, they were too busy with their sickening smack, crunch, rumble and roar!

The Lorax said nothing more. Just gave me a glance...

a very sad, sad backward glance...

as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.

I'll never forget the grim look on his face when he hoisted himself and took leave of this place.

And all that the Lorax left with me in this mess, was one single word,

UNLESS!

nothing is going to get better. It's not.

SO...

Plant your own bunch of trees.
Trees are what everyone needs!
Treat them with care.
Give them clean water and feed them fresh air.
Grow your own forest.
Protect it from chainsaws, skidders and axes that whack.
Then maybe, just maybe the Lorax and all of his friends will come back.

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