Deep in the woods where wild things grow,
'Neath rugged mountains capped with snow,
Where streams of old run clear and cold,
You roamed the forests long ago.
Your "hrum" and "hoom" would oft be heard,
Though some would think it quite absurd
That things should talk - and even walk -
That you should Be: a Tree Shepherd!
Down through the ages dark and fair,
With Wisdom's heart and loving care,
You tended all things great and small
That grew within the woodlands there.
From smallest seed to tallest tree,
All 'neath your watchful eyes they'd be;
'Till years had past and then at last
Their fallen leaves, a memory.
And though your time has passed and gone,
When daylight dims in shadows long;
One can still hear - so faint, yet clear -
The deep voice of the Shepherd's song.