Oak tree

Once there was this man
Who, while out walking
Thought to himself:
I have admired this tree long enough
Let me go and stand directly below it
Looking up through its branches, he said:
Dear old oak, you are happy with your life
Though unblessed by smile or song
What is your secret
That you grasp between your roots?
Do birds bring fascination in their beaks?
The oak swayed a little in the wind
But said nothing.
Dear creature, continued the man
You have lived all your life
Without a quintessential thought
Yet you exist!
You cannot really move or imagine anything at all
Still you are happy to divide and divide
In search of light!”
The tree looked down on the man:
“Don’t you think the angels say the same about you?”