An Isolated Tree's Song

Do you tell me to set my roots into air? Tell me, where had the procession of trees ever Raised the slogan of storm and seized the blue sky With their palms, being isolated from the soil? Do you call it living? Such a continual isolation Of a tree from the soil, is it the name of living? Think of that soil, on whose bosom there exist No trees, no carpets of herbs, leaves and grass, Where no farmers come ever taking their plows To sing the song of crops and no birds come To fill the arteries of wind with the song of blood, Where only the dust and the sand round the year Mourn and scream soundless like a grave; Do you want to be such a soil, such a waste land? O my Soil, I will give you forests, a vast world Of eternal green where animals roam, birds crowd And chirp; I will give you clouds, rains and storms Of peace if you, loving me, devour all my roots.