I aspire to it

I like your idea that a tree can flower a whole life without never dying. I like this idea that a life can not have of end. I had not imagined it. I had not dared to think it. That certain trees can be touched of a divine finger. This idea comes from deepest from your desire. Carrying your grace of the impossible one. I aspire to it. Scenting futile petrols, if fragile. Inaccessible. Flowers swept by the wind of the summer, struck by the breath of the winter months. All around the tree, it has only joy and misery there. He remain right, beautiful and proud. Until the end of the mystery. Of a life without dying. Your idea. Is it of you? I aspire to it. Do you have the power to offer it to us? Does the blood of this life where nothing die out? The complaint of the sheets damaging itself on the shroud of the autumn. The moaning of branches torn by the storm. Do you have this force to be able to act? For all to slow down. Before the bells of death do not sound? I aspire to it.