The Bark with the Mark

They marked the bark to feel they belonged—until the forest showed where strength truly grew.

By Forest Moss

1

In the bright side of Bramble, near Barkberry Creek,

Lived critters with marks on the trees by their beak.

They’d peck on the bark a neat “circle with flair,”

And said, “Only the marked trees are worthy of care!”

2

Now these weren’t just doodles, or random old dents—

They were status-stamp symbols for “trees of events.”

Only marked-bark trees held the best forest dances,

The top vine swings, and the fancier branches.

3

The Plain-Bark Trees, though equal in root,

Were called “second growth” or “far less astute.”

So critters who nested in unmarked brown wood

Were told they weren’t part of “the forest that could.”

4

But then came a woodpecker—Wickory Peck—

With a hammer-bill habit and a glitzy green vest.

“I sell bark-marks!” he cried, with a wink and a grin,

“Put one on your tree, and you’re instantly in!”

5

Soon critters came rushing from mossbeds and logs,

From dens in the dirt and the faraway bogs.

They lined up with twigs and sweet berries to pay—

And Wickory Peck made twelve dozen that day.

6

The old mark-havers were none too amused:

“These new marked trees? We didn’t approve!”

So they made their mark shinier, lined it in teal—

And whispered, “Those marks? They’re copycat feel.”

7

Then Wickory returned with a Premium Beak,

Saying, “Gold-edged stamps for the truly unique!”

And once again trees were judged by their bark,

While the forest forgot who first made the mark.

8

Some carved their own marks with mud and with ink,

Others wore fake marks on their branches with string.

One squirrel tattooed his tail just in case—

Only to find out the mark changed its place.

9

The signs grew confusing. The whispers grew loud.

The tree trunks wore badges the size of a cloud.

A pine shouted, “I’m legacy!” A fir yelled, “Elite!”

A birch tried a slogan: “The Sap’s in the Suite!”

10

Then a storm rolled in—deep thunder and crack—

And wind knocked the markiest tree off its back.

While the plain-barked trees, strong and wide-spread,

Held firm through the night with no slogans to shed.

11

By dawn, Wickory packed up his stamping supplies.

His feathers were wet, but his purse stayed dry.

And the forest looked round at its weather-torn signs…

Then quietly touched its roots and its pines.

12

They saw, at last, what no mark could disguise—

That strength doesn’t show on the surface of size.

So they planted new saplings, no pecks, no parade—

Just trees that stood tall for the friends they had made.

🎯 Moral of the Story:

The loudest marks fade. The deepest roots stay.

✏️ Why I Wrote This

This fable mirrors modern status signaling, performative identity, and the monetization of belonging—whether through social brands, loyalty pledges, digital badges, or class-based gatekeeping.

For kids, it’s a funny story about fads and friendship.

For adults, it’s a biting satire of tribal branding, social credit, and the illusion of inclusion through style over substance.