Friend of Man
The
Tree Speaks
Ye who would pass by and would raise your hand against me harken ere you harm me.
I am the heat of your hearth on the cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from the summer sun, and my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your thirst as you journey on.
I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you lie, and the timber that builds your boat.
I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your homestead, the wood of your cradle, and the shell of your coffin.
I am the gift of God, I am the friend of man. Ye who pass by, listen to my prayer.
Harm me not.
