I stand, I perceive, I am the old oak tree,
Witnessing the past in your memory.
Providing a home to countless sparrows,
Seeing your great grandfathers playing in the shadows.
But is that all that remains for me to see?

The sky once bright and full of pearls,
My branches danced with lively swirls.
Nights filled with melodious bird songs,
Nightingale and robin chirping along.
Soothing my ears, delighting my eyes,
Amidst the towering, swaying pines.
Those were the good old times.

Now, pollution dims my pearls,
My lungs burn like the fires of hell.
No more nightingale, no more robin,
Gone, all due to inhuman mobs.
My ears bleed, my eyes are torn,
In these sorrowful nights, I mourn.

I long to live, though dead inside,
Save me before they cut me alive.
I wish to embrace more of this life,
Despite the chaos and the strife.
With hope for beauty still ahead,
Preserve me, let me thrive instead.