Roughness, not my Fault!

Ash Tree

Birds prey on my fruit;

Kids play in my shade and use

 People all my parts.

Why do you be, from

Me, away? Come to my shade,

Lonely when you feel.

Now I grow old, my

Looks lose luster, all that are

My pals, dessert me.

Young of us, youths choose;

Creases will conquer charm of

Both, pale will grow bark.

Your Tree Ash am

 I; coarse now becomes my bark,

I lose my splendor.

Roughness, not my fault

Ruining my lure brings wrinkles,

Time on handsome me.


Picture From Google

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