Every tree is a tree But sometimes this tree Is a gate to ineffable time Or to our lthe gate of the dead stoives This tree could be the life itself With old deserted branches Or green and in power to progress But maybe small and crushed The indefinite symbols Allegoric and taken by surprise Stand in total blackness Near the gate of the dead stones We could say that evil hold The key of this gate Where the trees hold the absolute meaning But of course we could be wrong…