The weeping willow stood alone.
It tears, covered in grime, burned as they streaked down its sturdy trunk.
A curious child came along and saw this crying tree.
Why do you cry old tree? pondered the young girl
I cry for you. replied the old tree

I cry for my fellow trees who were chopped down to make paper.
This barren wasteland that used to be a place of beauty and purity,
now just a place of trash.
The wonders of the trees, no longer available.
And that is why, young child,
I cry for you.

I cry for all the animals struggling to survive along with 7 billion humans.
The birds who no longer sing sweet tunes because their throats are clogged with soot.
The vast assortment of species, rapidly shrinking.
Their beauty no longer visible.
And that is why, young child,
I cry for you

The little girl ran her fingers along the base of the old tree,
the tears burned a little less.
Slowly a smile appeared from the tree.
Why do you smile old tree? asked the curious girl
I smile because I know it can change.