Tree

The Will of a tree

A tree from the woods
Called the birds and made a will:
I leave the flowers to the sea
The leaves to the wind
The fruit to the sun
And all the seeds to you

Dear birds
Because you sung beautiful songs
For me in all my seasons.
I want the sticks,
When they are dry
To make fire for the poor.
But, I have to tell you:

On my trunk
There is a branch to be remembered,
For that branch simple and modest,
Was strong and generous,

Gave proof

The time it held an honest man
The day he hang himself.