Silvery branches reaching toward the only star that gazes upon them,
A life spent without living,
An eternity of standing,
Yet a century old turns those metallic limbs to rust,
It realizes that everything in this world is dust,
But it can only stand,
For the sun to rise and the sun to fall.
They see all that happens,
But nothing is remembered,
All they are is an image in history,
That is held to a mystery,
That may never be solved.
Oh you silvery branches,
You have no soul,
Nor a breathe to speak,
But when the wind sways,
Screaming in agonizing pain,
You are ready to fall,
But those men who built you,
Standing proud and tall,
Preserve you and that small wisp of life
In your roots which hold you firm.
If only you taught us to stand humble and tall,
And all the corruption that bombards you,
To stand firm and strong.
For yet the wind sways,
But it cannot move you.
You only weather and decay,
But you gave life some good hoorays,
And the moment the lumberjack is with his axe at your roots,
You give one more stare at the only star that gazes upon you,
Decades upon millenniums we stand,
All we are is a small leaf,
That served its purpose,
But gets tramped by every wind and every foot that roams the earth,
Let it be that I finally finished my purpose,
And now I must descend,
Where every wind and every foot will trample upon my decaying body,
But my purpose has left the mark for the decades upon Millenniums to come.