Somewhere, there stands a tree

In the midst of a forest

Alone, there it has grown,

With not another from its own mother,

The rest grew old and are ‘gone’


Now at an age of three

And not before the end of its time,

An axe will cross the stem

And have its best, the wood of the pine

This innocent tree

Would it have known

Would have run for its life,

Forever to be free!