Our bodies before our trees,
no, you just can't touch them,
mute, deaf, they stand guard
on hills, cliffs and mountains.
They hold secrets of the past,
within their huge, empty trunks.
They bless us, albeit silently,
the wind carries their words,
the rain is their gift back to us.
Now, it is time, we stood up,
for them, paying their debts.
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