 | Going-to-the-stars |  |
53
WHEN I WAS A TREE
When I was a tree, an aspen treeAn Indian wigwam hid by me
And a great big redwood sheltered me,
And a great big mountain sheltered him.
But a white man came and cut him down
To make cheap shacks in a dirty town,
And shot the Indian in my shade,
And I wondered why young trees were made.
I stood alone, sunburnt and slim,
And the mountain stood. Those men left him.
| Going-to-the-stars | |