To pity a tree, or to envy it?
Who among us has it better, and who worse?
It does not walk, as I do, to climb onto me,
Yet it is taller than I and greater in mass.

I wander the world and am everywhere,
I sate the eyes and the body’s states,
Mostly absent, I leave the home,
While it is faithful to it, fused to the earth.

I too will stop, they will put me in a box,
While they will saw it down, cut it into pieces —
People must search for their stop,
And trees will leave theirs.