O to be a tree,
And stand within the forest green and fair,
And hold my braches high within the air,
My head held in the sky.
O to be a willow tree,
That sits by the gentle running stream,
And with roots deep in the water dreams,
Of sunlight and summer days.
O to be a mighty oak,
And stand alone within the meadow,
Where the flowers their colours show,
And the butterfly abound.
O to be a plane tree,
That stands beside man’s busy roads,
And watches people as they go,
About their foolish business.
O to be an olive tree,
On a sunlit island hillside,
Warmed by day and cooled by night,
Under ancient stars.
O to be the mighty sequoia,
And span the years from my birth,
With roots sunk deep within the earth,
And memories within the sap.
O to be a tree,
And then be free from cares and woes,
To give up thinking but to deeply know,
An existence complete.
