“What did Paul Bunyan do after he cut down the last tree?”

When Paul Bunyan felled the last tall pine  
And Babe the Blue Ox let out a sigh,  
They gazed together at stumps in rows—  
No emerald waves, just open sky.  

The thunder of axes, the woodcutter’s call  
Were echoes now in the breathless dew.  
Paul wiped his brow, his shadow long,  
And pondered: “What am I to do?”  

He built a table from ancient logs  
And carved tall chairs for beasts and friends,  
Set out a meal where starlight fell  
On wilderness that met its end.  

He planted seedlings with gentle hands,  
His footsteps firm and slow.  
Babe carried water in buckets blue,  
And watched the young pines grow.  

Paul learned to listen to squirrel and wren,  
To cradle saplings and air.  
He traded his axe for a maple flute,  
And filled the dawn with care.  

In every grove where new buds reached,  
Paul hummed an old, sweet tune—  
The ballad of giants who heal the land  
Beneath a kinder moon.  

So if you wander where forests rise,  
Amid tall trunks and sunlit dew,  
You’ll hear a flute on the morning breeze—  
That’s Paul Bunyan, starting anew.

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