Maledicta ligna

Oh woe is my joy,
A singular toy,
Which crumbles from its base,
To its ever longing chase.
The desires flowing along the seas,
These elegant guarantees.
Beauty all around,
Everlasting love a falling lie,
The trees will always wonder,
Why must they try.
Trust is something one mustn't break,
Yet it's another thing they forsake.
The wishing of the souls among the breeze,
These heavenly trees.