My human child,
It does horrible things to me.
Infects my bark, pollutes my sap
And for a decade I’m dizzy.
I am a tree, and you my human child,
Are the wrong species for me.
Perhaps a lovely shrub or even a little Anemone,
Would be a passing comfort to me.
A little bird to roost snugly in my arms,
Has its undoubted charms.
But you my human child,
You are the wrong species for me.
Yet I yearn, over the century, so much for your company.
Though you, my human child,
Are the wrong species for me.
« vorige.