“We have never changed
Our ways of life
Since the beginning of our time,”
said an oak tree.
“We have always been truly happy
With the tastes of water and soil,
With the scent of sunshine and air,
With the lulling breaths of cold seasons;
And that is the reason why
We have never moved
From where we have had our roots
To look for a different happiness
somewhere else.”
Then I heard a squirrel’s cheerful voice
From somewhere in the canopy
Of the old towering oak,
saying:
“It is true,
True as the beauty of green!
With these oak trees
The tastes of their nourishing acorns
Have never changed;
And what is more
They are so motherly
In their generous hospitality;
And the shelters they give us
In their branches up here,
Are safer than the eyes of stars.”
Were they talking to me?
Did they want me to ashamedly confess
That only for perpetual changes
In the tastes of my pleasures
I kill and kill and destroy and destroy,
And will never be satisfied
Until the end of everything on earth?
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