The Tree :
I come from Nature
Hoping for a nice future
I grow and grow with aims.
But every one uses me for games.
People say Oh! Good fresh air…
But carpenters say strong wood for chair…
I have lots of wishes to fulfil…
But I die without seeing my pupil…
To you I bend and bow…
And plead with a voice so low…
Please do not kill me…
By turning me into coal…
I’ll grow old till I reach my goal.
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