The Tree

For a hundred years I breathe and live, the flower of beauty and the bread of kindness.
I am your friendly shade in the noonday heat of summer, and I stand pencilled against the winter twilight, a silhouette for dreams. At dawning in the spring I am filled with song, the host to a thousand birds, and I decorate the autumn with pageantry and colour.
Then comes the woodsman with his axe.
And still I serve.
I am the timber that builds your boat; the rafters of your cathedrals; the choirstalls of your church enriched by the magic of the carver's fingers. I am the beam that holds your house; the door of your homestead, and the lintel too. I am the handle of your hoe; the wood of your cradle; the bed on which you lie; the board of your table and the board for your bread.
When I am living, harm me not.
When I am dead, respect me and use me kindly.
-Anon., Testimony of the Tree