A tree
lives in the mountain
because it likes it.

When the birds
come by and sing,
sometimes the tree waves.

The tree, by itself, lets the
flowers blossom and
release their fragrance.
As it dunks its feet
in the stream at night,
the lonely tree has a
conversation with the stars.

Late Autumn,
yearning for the soul
of the mountain,
the tree stands by the street
waiting for its lover to come

Last night’s
cold frost
dyes its heart red.
O you lonely,
shy lover.