My heart aches when I see these old trees stand
Patient and stoical throughout the years,
Silent when soft spring rains drip through like tears,
Silent when autumn sunlight fills the land.

Swirling spring freshets tear the earth away
Under their roots, which blindly grope and cling
To the bare rocks. The winds of winter fling
Frenziedly through their branches, ghostly gray.

And yet why should I pity ancient trees?
I have seen old, old men as bleak as these.