I wonder — do the trees have souls?
They raise their arms up to the sky…
Do they have thoughts, do they have goals?
Do they laugh, or weep, or question why?
Do they feel glad when sun meets rain,
In early, bright and hopeful spring?
Do they feel sad in autumn’s pain,
When not one living leaf can cling?
Does it hurt when axes fall
And cut right through their very heart?
When the saw brings an end to all,
Tearing life and dreams apart?
Do they scream, do they cry and wail
When chopped and tossed into the fire?…
They only howl through the cold gale,
Too weak to stop this act so dire.
When the ruthless flames burn strong
And eat away their very core —
They do not hate, they bear the wrong,
They die in silence, evermore.
They hope that after death they’ll rise
And find new life in other ways —
A great wine barrel – noble prize,
A sweet flute or a violin’s praise.
But if no such luck comes their way
And nothing of them lasts in time —
They’ll warm the killer’s coat someday,
And rot together in the grime.
VitaVers 
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