This tree is obsolete, its shrunken roots have lost support of ground.
It doesn't hear voice of spring, birds chorus's trills it doesn't hear sound.
Gone are audacity and fun of crown's growth rage,
Killed by the cold hangover brought by unforgiving age.
In dreamlike memories of youth this tree is held enchanted by the past,
By happiness and love that were alive, alas, they long have passed.

But, strangely, on its trunk the tender green shoot of escape I see,
Which props itself through wrinkles of its bark's dried up and deadened skin.
Oh, tree of life - not yet completed is your time.
As long as you can stand -  life's heavy burden you shall overcome!