The giant old tree has stood alone for centuries.
It has witnessed joy, sorrow, calamity, and more.
Its branches are strong—no wind can move them.
Movement is left to the smaller limbs and leaves,
who whisper excitedly when the breeze arrives.
They love its touch, dancing and humming in delight,
though a stronger wind may tear them away.
The branches sway happily, the breeze caresses,
but the wind commands their dance.
The tree rejoices in rain, its body cleansed,
refreshed, hydrated by the downpour.
Proud, it refuses to bow before the stronger.
Yet pride is its downfall: in the cyclone’s fury
it twists, its branches torn, its roots uprooted.
The bamboo bends but never breaks—
a lesson the tree will not learn.
Stubbornness is its end.
