My sister was a woodcutter

She hewed the trees

She whittled the twigs

My brother was a kind soul

He kept bees

He arranged gigs

My sister was a singer

But she cut trees

But she liked the scene

My brother, he liked to paint

But he only used red

But he was mean

The trees, they were her limbs

The paint came from the sap

My sister was a woodcutter

My brother was a kind soul.