An exhausted traveler takes to my shade,
He shuts his eyelids and sleeps soundly.
He dreams and dreams.
Absolute quietness falls over the world
And darkness shrouds the earth.
A rosy thread emanates from the east
The birds take to my branches and sing
The leaves dance under the gentle breeze,
The fragrance intermingles with the music,
A refreshed face slowly opens its eyes
Like an egg hatching

Happiness sparkles in its half- opened eyes
The smile spreads its wings and rests on his lips.
When the leaves dry up on my branches
And all my umbrageous shade leaves for ever.
The wood-cutters whirl their axes at my trunk
But I might become a bench in a garden cradling lovers,
Or a window through which the rays of sunrise seep,
Or my wood might be converted into paper

On which would be written love poems or letters of longing,
Or I might be cut into wood for the fireplace
And radiate warmth copiously
And feel that even at the moment of my extinction
I could still be creative!