Every tree is a tree
But sometimes this tree
Is a gate to ineffable time
Or to our lthe gate of the dead stoives

This tree could be the life itself
With old deserted branches
Or green and in power to progress
But maybe small and crushed

The indefinite symbols
Allegoric and taken by surprise
Stand in total blackness
Near the gate of the dead stones

We could say that evil hold
The key of this gate
Where the trees hold the absolute meaning
But of course we could be wrong…