Trees are living things,
   living souls...
They feed on underground waters
  and go up and up towards the Sun.
They seem to be silent,
  but that is not so...
If you tune yourself
  to the camertones
of their voices
  you will hear their songs,
ballads of the heart...


They live for 300 years
  and seem to be happy...
I was also happy
   when I was a tree...
Am I happy now?
  As a human?
As a poet?
  As an artist?
I'm a living soul
   feeding on the fruits of the earth,
going up and up towards the Sky...


But not for 300 years,
   for less than a hundred...


Pity...


Oct. 23, 2025

P.S. I don't know who wrote this... I woke up in the morning and this poem was inside me...