Last night someone overthrew a tree
reaching 3,000 years of age
erected on the field.
At night its chips burnt
heating the men stiff with cold
and in the mist of such brightness
indicated the site of its death,
the same of its long life,
the same of its brief fire.
 
Yesterday its shadow
extended to the distant house,
crossing the brook
that was not there
when it grew.
 
There is a well
with root bunches hanging,
with fragments of branches and bark
it shows where
its powerful sap bloomed
along centuries.
 
No longer existing animals
made their nests in its top,
and under its branches
infinite storms would burst.
Its high arms
emerged from amidst the low clouds.
Among its roots
primitive men
would hide from beasts,
and then treasures were hidden,
love letters,
stolen objects,
and someone
with a penknife
carved illegible words.
 
Last night someone overthrew a tree
reaching 3,000 years
erected over the world.