The Momma Clan

The tree is man’s best friend, Yes, I’m not kidding, I’m serious.
It stays where you planted it and grows its roots there.

It does not scream, It does not cry, It does not make his voice heard.
It is a silent, attentive, patient confessor, your secrets are safe with it.
It listens to you, It doesn’t judge you, It never gets bored of hearing your voice.

When it rains or is too hot you can find refuge and refreshment under its branches.
When you feel like playing, you can attach a rope to its strongest branch and it makes you have fun
with the swing.
It accompanies you throughout your life, grows with you, ages with you, watches over you when
you have reached the end of your earthly journey.
It never asks you for food, but it gets its own food.
It is not intrusive, it does not dirty in the house, it does not wake you up, but it lets you rest in
peace.

The tree breathes your poison and in return, it gives you oxygen to live.
Colors and perfumes the environment where you live.

The tree can become anything you want, If you are hungry, it feeds you with its marvelous fragrance and greedy fruits. It can be your bed, your table, the sheet where you collect your life in verse, and
even if you abandoned it, burned it, cut it, it would not bear grudges and in silence and with a few
tears he would passively suffer everything and in silence.

You can engrave, on its trunk, the initials of your name and of the person you love, with a heart to frame love, and it will testify to this forever too.

Emanuele Cilenti