I am like a pine tree
On a lone hill.
My garden is all bare,
My birds are still. Oh, little green leaves,
That went away,
Why did you go and
Where do you stay? I was steeped in summer,
Adrift in bloom.
My garden was gay as
A tapestried room. Now all the paths are bare
And the stalks brown.
The birds flew up and
The leaves fell down. The color is faded,
Red, green, and blue.
I am like a pine tree
The wind goes through.