On a hill, there is a tree
Extending its boughs towards the sea
Yearning for what she cannot reach.
I heard it moaning with
The wind shaking with grieve.
Turning upward away from the soil,
Away from the roots that has been
Her shelter for years.
And the sea? The sea never heard
Her moaning, never heard of her grieve.
The agony sculpted her tortured
Figure as she stands
Oblivious to her friends,
The caring sun and the loving rain-
Gently sustaining her with care,
Attentively showering her with love.