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As I walked through the forest,                                                                    I come across a dying tree.                                                                          I heard loud and clear,                                                                            how are you my friend.                                                                                I am by myself,                                                                                        am I hearing things~I said out loud.                                                            It is me your friend,                                                                                    a dying oak tree.                                                                                      Oh my,                                                                                                      a tree is talking to me.                                                                         Yes~I am old and at the end of my life span.                                                 I guess as a tree you have seen many changes,                                yes~from life to people.                                                                           The birds loved to build their nests,                                                          and have their families in my branches.                                                       In the fall the squirrels hid their nuts,                                                       and I kept them warm in the cold winters.                                                 The kids loved to climb me each summer,                                                   and I loved to hear them laugh.                                                              Why are you dying,                                                                                  are you sick.                                                                                               I am not sick,                                                                                              I am worn out.                                                                                        You see,                                                                                                some cut my branches for fun and for firewood.                                       When I was young,                                                                                      I kept growing.                                                                                      Then they kept cutting,                                                                         more and more each year.                                                                           I could not keep up,                                                                                now my days are few.                                                                                  I am dying,                                                                                             my life has been fulfilled.
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