Arborists are underappreciated. They should take a bough.
nature
The Queen ordered that all the redwoods in England be cut down, because despite their height they gave very little shade. “They are guilty,” she said, “of high tree sun.”
What tree is thriving in this depressed economy? The weeping will owe.

Arborists are into treesomes. Which leads to a lot of unplant pregnancies.
Romance flowers when you least expect! My pal Pete Rose, a bouquet at the racetracks, has a girlfriend named Bea. They met at a party, and she laughed when he offered to fertilizer. She looked at his pistil and said “I bet you don’t have stamena.” How a pollen right? And yet he nectar anyway! Then they ducked into a bathroom and she bloom on all florist. Wow, they seed an opportunity and didn’t waste mulch time; now they’re inseparable. That’s love for you, not just a ficus of the imagination. It never turns out as you plant.
I didn’t want to walk in the woods. But I was forest.
I wish I could piss on a tree! Oh, how I’ve pined and urined fir that scents of pees! Or at least dribble on my balsam.
What’s a vegetarian’s favourite place to dine?
An arboretum.
The Northern Lights are so bright they can set off forest fires. There’s nothing more spectaular than A roaring Borealis.
If I were a tree, I wood like poplar music. Especially Spruce Sprigsteen. Or Johnny Cash’s Balsam Prison Blues.