A bolt of lightning strikes through the night;
the mice are awoken, the bats take flight.
For miles and miles they hear its scream,
but no one mourns for the tree.
The leaves are falling, the stars are not;
the roots are tearing, the bark runs hot.
They talk of what a sight to see,
but no one mourns for the tree.
The birds are left without a nest,
the squirrels don’t have a place to rest;
and they’re all sad because of these,
but no one mourns for the tree.
The soil is drying, the plants are wilting;
the bunnies are gone, the tire swing’s missing.
Everything’s as bleak as it can be,
but no one mourns for the tree.
The rings no longer tell its age,
it’s back in the ground, no one cares of its days;
and through it all, it gives up its plea,
because no one mourns for the tree.
