To my grandparents,
Once upon a time there was a small, soft seedling, which had a cold winter, and a hot summer.
He shivered with cold, and sweated profusely.
There were times when the seedling seemed to be almost broken,
But despite everything he remained stable.
And over time, he grew and became stronger.
The winds strengthened him, and the thorns though they stabbed, gave him strength.
And one very spring day, he saw next to him a large and strong tree, which, like him, had once been a seedling.
Their branches joined together, and they became one,
For one very fine tree, which grew juicy fruits, and struck roots in the moist soil.
To the tree, under whose shade the people used to lie down and sit, and which the children climbed on its branches.
To a tree, which even when the wind increased, and even when it did not rain a meter, did not move from its place, nor did its forces diminish.
To the tree, which he gave to all for nothing.
Until one day the fellers came, cut down the tree and took it to them,
To illuminate and heat the homes of the residents.
And the people cried. Cry for the shadow that is not, for the fruit,
And for the children who cannot play between its branches.
And only one thing they did not remember, nor understand,
That the tree is not lost, that it exists,
And that he continues to illuminate and warm them from elsewhere.