That ancient tree, don’t let it fall
Until old age is knelling;
So many things it can recall,
What tales it could be telling.
We once did see its blossom-haul
Each branch with fruit was swelling.
That ancient tree, don’t let it fall,
You must not think of felling!
Now to be journeying I yearn
But yet the truth in part is
One does but travel to return,
For home is where one’s heart is.
When this old tree stands blossom-tall,
I’m nearly home it’s telling;
That ancient tree, don’t let it fall,
You must not think of felling!
