"Seven hundred years have passed and still there is something missing in my life and the small place which belongs to me is not lively....
Seven hundred years have passed and still there is no sense of companionship....
Seven hundred years have passed and no one is alive to care for me in order to make me live more.....
Seven hundred years have passed and I have seen myself climbing records for being one of the oldest trees... but that is all.... still missing the "love", the bliss to fall.....
Seven hundred years will pass again and if you ask me... I will say.... don't want to live longer to show my oldness again.... the life so blank... empty of love... is just like my branches... empty of leaves.... dead like "death" is not the real pain... alive like being "dead" is like all the hell's punishment chains....
whispered the beautiful "Bartek", the Polish oak tree.
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