THE TREE

Again something I found in the Farmers almanac too beautiful not to share.

Legend has it that the Portuguese attached this poem to the trees in their forests:

                                                  THE TREE

Ye who pass by and would raise your hand against me, harken 'ere you harm me.

I am the heat of your hearth on the cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from summer sun, and my fruits are refreshing, quenching your thirst as you journey on.

I am the bean that holds your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you lie, the timber that builds your boat.

I am the handle of your hoe, the dorr of your homestead, the wood of your cradle, and the shell of your coffin.

I am the bread of kindness and the flower of beauty.

Ye who pass by, listen to my prayer, harm me not.