I am the oak in winter cold
standing tall, growing old
weepy willows standing by
crying ever at my side
showing their hoar leaves in the pond
sinking in the depths, and beyond.
Cut me down upon the grass
let me rest at long last
in fields of verdant green
stretching as far as can be seen
no more tree swings or fires for me
chop me down, let me be
for I have stood steadfast and tall
in spring through summer, winter through fall.
let my russet leaves fly far from here
cut me down, the willows will cry their tears
return me to the earth from whence I came
do not be sad, I hold no blame.

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