That ancient tree, don’t let it
Until old age is knelling;
So many things it can recall,
What tales it could be telling.
We once did see its
Each branch with fruit was swelling.
That ancient tree, don’t let it fall,
You must not think of felling!
Now to be journeying I
But yet the truth in part
One does but travel to return,
For home is where one’s heart is.
When this old tree stands blossom-tall,
I’m nearly home it’s telling;
That ancient tree, don’t let it fall,
You must not think of felling!
