We live our lives as trees, hustling, bustling in wind
Swaying back and riding the current of passage
Deeply rooted on soil, hoping for great package
Given by out Mother, strong and thick, not just pinned

We are always hoping that are leaves turn out green
Every spring begins with burgeoning aspects
That you will get transplant near flowering prospects
And somehow you have chance that you might become Dean

When will you know the time to wither out of breath
As your seeds are grown-up, made into majestic
Out of your resemblance with some of your tactic

Soon, there will be sorrow upon your timely death
Your legacy remains in deep established roots
And all the fallen seeds that produced many fruits