The Little Tree
The little tree, though young and small;
Bore much fruit and stood so tall.
Through snow and wind and rain and sun,
To cut it down, you can do none.
With flowers beside and clouds above,
It stayed as healthy and filled with much love;
But now the strange wind came, passed its way,
Slowly blowing its leaves away.
Now things have never been as vague and as blurred,
That this strong little tree wept as it withered;
It never knew why the earth gave it its leaves or merely just lent,
Only to break the little tree’s heart in a spur of a moment.
That the very cloud that nurtured it,
Will put the little tree into a stumbling pit.
Why did the cloud have to travel, stay afar,
Only to leave the little tree a painful scar.
The little tree can’t help but raise its hands,
While on its roots it firmly stands.
Asking the skies, “I a reason quite unknown —
Why do the leaves have to away be blown?”
How to regrow its leaves, fill it anew,
Or at least put it on halt, for it just can’t bid a bitter adieu;
On the sky only did the tree put its hope,
Fully knowing its unlimited and infinite scope.
Now the tree hopes to see the East,
Hoping for well, a very grand feast;
That when the spring at last comes back,
All the leaves have already grown, having none at all anymore lack.