O self touched by the plight of a tree
Do not cry for its harsh environment
Deprived of chances to live in a grove
Don’t cry for roots encased under cement
Be glad that it prepares so tenaciously
To enshrine its will to live in seeds
Be touched by seed-throwing gestures
And by hope that doesn’t calculate results
Keep up hopes that hearts will be softened
By life’s design in the package of a seed
Trust that a sapling will try to offer shade
Even before a grove has grown around it
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