I think that I shall never see
A thing so lovely as a tree.
It cleans the air, it beautifies,
'Til man needs it, and then it dies.
A shame we show no great concern;
We cut them down, we watch them burn.
For if the last great tree should die,
Then so will Earth, and man, and I.
A poet I may never be, But I give thanks to the mighty tree.