Suffering each frost and intense sunrise
With rugged , limply body
Counting on the last days of her life
A dying Tree, stands with her cries
No leaf to dance and browse
The bird, once knot her hair has left
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Tree house and fishing in Yalambar
Oh, I look gloomy with no green
Lost my hand to shade, she grouse
She has sicken before growing old
Her friends were chopped infront , she alludes
Screeches when remembers her trampled children
To burn down to firewood she has just been sold
Transpiring hearts beats no more fast
Children hate to swing up
No more futile to bear fruit
Looks at menacing people with aghast
Do her cutting allows us to thrive?
With no water to drain crops, air to inhale
Because degrading her, destroys ourselves
Still she is taking her last breathe to make us alive.
