She looks at the trees as she goes by,
They look so cold--
She wonders if they shiver...
They look so cold,
So naked,
So alone.

Maybe they are dead in winter--
Maybe they don't feel a thing.
She wonders...

She can't ask them--
How do you talk to trees?
To those poor lonesome trees...

They look so cold--
Their arms stretched out
As if crying in despair.

They look like saying to her:
Help me; Help!
They look so cold,
Her poor lonesome trees--