To be free is the way to be,
No one to listen to, only him.
Plain land all around,
Except that tree in the ground.
It is not quite as free as him.
He feels sorry for that lonely tree.
Big and rounded,
Always surrounded.
By the chirp of the birds,
And the pounding of the herds.
The sorrow it must feel,
To not know if it is real.
This tree that he sees in front of him,
It can not be completely free like him.