There it dwells still and wry,
On top of the hillside, alone and leafless
I wonder often if it was once alive?
In snowy winter, it ignores the breath of air
A brave heart defying death without any fear.
Quiet as a seer who has turned pale
Whose wisdom speaks, through stories and tales
Rests quietly in solitude, Oh! the mass of wood
That once touched the sky, as high as it could.
Birds came and dwelt, their progeny learnt to fly,
All branches shook and danced
To the rhythm of birdies’ merry cry.
The grandeur of stump speaks of days
When it once was green
Offered fruits to many, its branches wrapped in leaves
Had a majestic canopy, that shone bright at night
How splendid was its bloom, in days full of light.
Oh! that marvel on the cliff is lost like a dream,
Beauty meant to be rejoiced
Is exploited for human greed.
Now a sad lonely stub, a statue of loss,
Rests in peace on the barren hill top
Whenever at leisure I go to the hill side,
It recites to me how proudly it stood
When once it was alive.