There was a tree upon a hill,
Whose brittle limbs were bare.
That shivered in the winter chill,
And slept in autumn air.
This barren tree, she had a dream,
That one day she would fly,
She would escape this friendless theme
And taste the summer sky.
All the sparrows she would follow;
Would sing their heartfelt song.
To the raven and the swallow
With them she would belong.
But every day the tree would wake,
For it was not to be.
And then her weary heart would break,
The lost and lonely tree.