Pity the tree, or envy it?
Which of us is better and who is worse?
Like me, he doesn’t walk to climb on me,
And higher than me and a lot more.

I travel the world and I’m everywhere
I saturate the eyes and conditions for the body
Mostly absent, I leave home,
It is true to him, it stuck to the ground.

I’ll stop and I’ll put it in a box,
It is cut down, cut into pieces —
For people to look for their stop
And the trees will leave their own.