If you go down to the woods today

You’ll see a tree that fell

Not over or down or without a sound

But it was feeling rather unwell


It had a bad cough

Which attracted the attention

Of a fully unqualified

Sapling tree surgeon


The surgeon cut him open

And gave him a poke

His diagnoses was bleak

For the sickly old oak


He shaved off his leaves

And lopped off a chunk

Of a branch and then sawed off

Part of his trunk


Finally when the tree was

Stripped of his bark

He got tired of the surgeon

Having a lark


“What have you done!” cried the old oak

Shouting as loud as he could

“I only had branchitis, a tickle, a bark

Now I’m a pile of dead wood!”


If you go down to the woods tomorrow

You’ll see a pile of logs

Thanks to a looney little tree surgeon

Who was as mad as a box of frogs.

Tree Surgeon - A short funny poem about a deciduous doctor