Onanist

The onanist I know of a man when following a nature trail saw a sampling of a tree that looked neglected dropped his semen on the tree in compassion Years later, he visited, the sampling now a tree which he sentimentally called my son and built A fence around it and cut the branches of trees that touched his son. It was a lonely tree with an aristocratic look There it stood posh among the forest’s trees where squirrels had fun, so sad, so gloomy On a stormy night, his son fell, and no one heard the sound; the man said, my son, my son, why didn’t I let you grow like a forest tree should?