like trees because they never express their feelings.
If they see a child making a heap on the ground, they never
disturb him, trees are never scaring.
They are so discreet that they know countless bird love stories.
So, they know more than anyone else.
They can stand still for thousands of years and they’re never cut.
If they’re cut, they never cry.
When they do, their tears become amber.
When there’s a fire, they surely could pull out their roots from the
soil and run off, but they never do.
They are never rich or poor, trees have what they need.
In spring, they are superbly dressed and perfumed for their
partners. If they fall in
love, small bees who like their garments do love for them.
I’d like to be a tree, but perhaps I would like to be a stone,
one of those rounded pebbles who have lived so much.