Trees, a life, a mysterious mind,
Filled with burdens and sorrow,
And never truly healed.
Unable to cry,
Unable to weep,
Unable to scream,
Unable to grow.

Always a seed,
Always a rock,
Never growing,
Always withering.
Never being able to show,
Never being able to shine,
Never being able to achieve,
And never being able to fly.

Winter is harsh.
No eyes,
No leaves,
No mouth,
No voice,
No ears,
No fate,
No face,
No beauty.

Always being hit,
Always being chopped,
Always being yelled,
Always being disgraced,
Always being killed,
Never being grieved,
And never being comforted.
Always dying,
Always falling,
Always weeping,
And always losing.


But no tree has to be like that,
All trees are not the same.
But they always change,
But they always fight,
But they never give up,
But they always find the light.

When all hell and hate all fades,
Will the sun shine through,
To give the little seedlings,
A reason to live and fight,
A reason to live,
A reason to grow,
A reason to flourish,
And a reason to never give up.

Trees fight,
Trees die,
Trees fall,
Trees wither,
But what trees never do is give up hope.

The sun shines,
The trees grow,
The light guides,
The trees follow,
The sky darkens,
The trees lightens,
Never will us trees ever be taken down.

Even though we get hit,
Even though we die,
Even though the world hates us,
We still are able to get up and fight,
We trees never give up.

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