Ponderously Planting trees, Whose prospective shade In full bloom will not shelter me, who aspires for whom, If all, even “I” are empty? The guide to land of milk and honey Promised they who followed, Tribes that once worshiped hollows, Over countless dunes of sand There they'd find the promised holy land, Consecrated by where would stand No man but son of man. For on the tribal pyre, Burns liberties fire. Ponderously Planting trees, Who and whom would free, If all by self are freed?