For a hundred years I breathe and live, the flower of beauty and the bread of kindness.

I am the 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 pagentry and color.

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 your 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 your lay; 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

(If somebody knows the author, please let me know)