The lost woods born
From sawdust shorn
By blades that spin
Until they’re worn
The air is filled
With pinewood waste
So hard to breathe
But sweet to taste
As animals flee
The screeching sound
There’s plenty of profit
To be found
And the forest floats
Upon thick air
A change in state
From what was there
A Life in Poems 
I love this poem! It created a very pleasant picture and the piece has very nice rhythm. Great job!
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Thank you very much!
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Of course!
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