The speaker writes to a typhoon as if it were a person, opening with "Dear typhoon" like a letter to someone who might actually listen. The tone is polite and desperate at once. The speaker pleads, "please find another canvas," and treats the storm as an artist whose wreckage is "a selfish art work." That image is a sharp one: destruction becomes something the storm does for its own satisfaction, while ordinary people pay for it.
The speaker's fear grows as the poem goes on. They list what has already been lost, roots pulled, hills scraped, grass cleared, and then the repeated "please, please, please" breaks the neat letter form and lets the panic through. The final line, "The tree of man," widens the focus from one home to all of humanity, suggesting that people, like trees, depend on their roots and can be torn up. The mood is anxious, sorrowful and vulnerable, with a small, human voice speaking to something enormous.