A tree may in beauty branch,
It’s leaves in the pure air,
Without a care
Dance

Tuneful birds,
Their song more precious than words
May in freedom sing
And solace bring
To the troubled soul.

The goal
Of girl and boy
Is joy.
Yet how easily does the wind of passion
Fashion
The fine tree in the crooked way.

The leaves say
Words
That cause the birds
To fly away.
One or two may stay
And the tree
By slow degree
Twists so it no longer resembles it’s noble shape.

The landscape darkens
And the vulture harkens
To the tree’s word.
Oh, would that it had gone unheard!