The Tree



The Tree :




I come from Nature

Hoping for a nice future

I grow and grow with aims.

But every one uses me for games.

People say Oh! Good fresh air…

But carpenters say strong wood for chair…

I have lots of wishes to fulfil…

But I die without seeing my pupil…

To you I bend and bow…

And plead with a voice so low…

Please do not kill me…

By turning me into coal…

I’ll grow old till I reach my goal.





By
Tarun – Chennai – India






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