Beneath the shade of a spreading tree,
Even the fiercest sun bows silently.
The burning gusts like furnace flame
Turn cool and kind, no longer maim.
What soul resides in such a tree—
That pours out peace so selflessly?
It asks for nothing in return,
Yet gives its coolness where we burn.
The traveler tired, the weary hand,
The farmer toiling on the land—
To all, unknown and undefined,
It offers shelter, calm, and kind.
Whoever comes is welcomed in,
No pride, no price, no shade grown thin.
Its arms outstretched in silent grace,
A temple rooted in one place.
—And then, there stands the human soul,
Obsessed with self, with grasping goal.
Always wanting more, not less,
In frantic, fevered restlessness.
If trees were filled with selfish thought,
Then mankind's shade could not be bought.
We’d scorch beneath the ruthless light,
Burn in the winds, devoid of right.
Yet still we fail to understand,
The blessing trees give to the land.
Why can't we learn from leafy grace—
To serve, to give, in every place?
Imagine then what we could be,
If hearts were shaped like giving trees.
No hunger left, no streets for beds,
No hate between the colors or creeds.
No human cast another low,
If selfless seeds we chose to sow.
Oh, what a world would bloom anew—
If trees could teach us what is true.
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