They stand like green-clad towers,
As silent as you please,
I do not doubt you know them,
They are my friends, the trees.
They wave their finger branches,
In every quiet breeze,
I tell them all my secrets,
For they’re my friends, the trees.
They’re always sort of humming,
With butterflies and bees,
You’d like them, this I promise,
These friends of mine, the trees.
They always dress in mosses,
There’s none arrayed like these,
You’d like to go and hug them,
So soft my friends, the trees.
They ever strive to shade me,
With brilliant, hanging leaves,
A cooler place is no where,
Than with my friends, the trees.
They’ve been around for ages,
There’s no one old as these,
And round my grave someday,
You’ll find my friends, the trees.