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Poem

The trees, big or small, high or low,
Are the nicest things in the world,
They wouldn’t hurt a fly, a sparrow,
They host all the birds, blue or white
Summer or winter, in the mountains or plains,

They’re the nicest thing in the world,
They retain water and incredible poisons,
What varied fruits, gifts in their branches,
Oranges, plums, juicy pears, yellow lemons,
And all the sunny mangoes, I forget a lot,

They spread the forests of South Carolina, 
Those of the two Virginias, those of Manitoba,
They feed animals, they protect butterflies,
The trees are so nice, indeed, magical,
They stop storms on gigantic cities,
They may poets find refuge in America,

Trees are the nicest thing on earth,
They offer the paper to great writers,
Energy to elephants with big ears,
Around the Breton squares, they do a soothing dance,
Watch them offer peace, and rest,
To scientists, tired engineers, doctors,
Trees are the nicest thing in the world,
Love them, love them, they just wait for it.

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