An old banyan tree leans beside the lake,
At the quiet corner of the street.
Who can guess how many years it holds?
Young maple leaves cling to the stem,
Seeking safety in ancient roots.
They fall into the shadow of the water,
Where no flower rests upon the calyx.
Yet life stirs in the trembling breeze,
And gentle visits soothe the hidden pain.
It shields the weary from the burning sun,
Its leaves dancing upon the rippling waves,
Cooling the warmth of the meadow.
The butterfly and the bee join together,
Sharing the struggle against the wind.
The woodcutter passes, and parrots make holes,
Building their nests within the leaning bough.
The old tree knows not how to weep,
Though silent sorrows stir deep in the bark.
The woodpecker pries, and rats hide in the hay,
Yet everlasting life beats beneath the wood.