Its roots are hands to scoop up rain
its leaves are throats that drink the sun
these disappear when warmth is done
the whole tree is the whole tree's brain
and every scar it has will heal
no matter where the wound may be
but anywhere upon the tree
too great a scar will slowly kill
without lungs it breathes but has no breath
without a heart its thin blood flows
with no eyes it light and darkness knows
and it knows too of coming death
for feeling in its wounded cells
will cause a crippled tree to fling
more blossoms to the winds of spring
than one whom youthful sap impels