I viewed the magnificent tree
And saw nothing of fruits in my blindness
So I axed brutally it to the ground

I planted a new tree, mine to choose,
And that bore me the fruits I desired
I saw much of fruits in my blindness
So I allowed my lie to live and grow
Noise of doing
Replaced done.

And one day
I looked at the poor fallen tree
And even in its death, decaying
It wept sadly, a life ended
Presenting its days of dedication
Moaning a premature death