He made quite the living
with his 100-acre plot
draining the trees dry
of every sweet drop
But the trees grew to despise
the tyranny he imposed
They began to plot together
leaning their branches in close
One day, as he walked
beneather their wide leaves
he rubbed his paws together
his head full with greed
The tress altered their nectar
and poured it down thick
No more sweet and delicious
but cruel and acidic
First, the wetness
Then came the sting
Half his face melted off
before he could scream
