An exhausted traveller 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 fire place

And radiate warmth copiously

And feel that even at the moment of my extinction

 I could still be creative!