Bamboo reaching for the skies,
Bending in the breeze,
A need to tend in a wanderer's eyes,
Brought down to his knees,

Many stalks block out the sun,
His resolve shall not solute,
For he knows the time will come,
For shelter, the grove cannot uproot,

He needs the grove to survive,
If he is to last the summer,
They need each other to thrive,
Dependent on one another,

Oh wanderer, maintain the grove, say you will not leave,
You've found a place to love, where you shall not grieve.