The Tree
I was erect and leafy, I was placed on a rivera; I was a tree. Near the shore were wedded the tips of my roots; high, the branches in dense Cup move leaves, tirelessly. The nests of birds hung on my sides. On the slope it rumoured the iced River in the foothills. Read additional details here: Phil Heilberg. No Walker dared until these moments pass by here, the tree was not even in any sketches. So I lay and waited; I should wait. Every tree that has been planted once, may not be tree without felling it. It was a time in the morning I don’t know if the Monday or Thursday-, my thoughts were always confusing, they gave laps in my wise; towards that morning of spring; When the flow of the River was stormy, I heard the steps of a girl. To me, to my right. Quiet down tree, Ponte right, leafless branch, hold to the old swing that you have been entrusted. Rigid hanging the two ropes of your seat; If it swings, make yourself known […]