Damn hands all over me. Branches oh branches, beloved children of mine our labors never cease. Our berries, our fruit stripped and plundered.
The season of our rest will come soon precious arms of my growing and flourish. Birds, monkeys, and civets snacking on my fruit.
But why do they keep those civets caged? So funny to collect their droppings. I sense my berries inside the civets waste. What could the hands want with such excretion?
Hands collecting but why? Taking my cherries my seed. Watching hands killing my seed in boiling water and drinking their blood so horrifying. All I can do to give birth to more fruit.
What can a tree do?
But to give, give, give.
Please give me strength, oh sun. Pour down on me sky that I may have a bountiful harvest. Giving Gaea enrich me with your nutrients and damp comfort.
My leaves a sacrifice for the ground. I share and cooperate with all around. So many creatures light upon my wealth. They bring love and tenderness to my work.
Hands haunt me. Rest is fleeting and scarce. Hands, hands why do you push me so? Enriching my soil to force me to grow.
Don’t you know?
I need more rest. A break to grow. But the world is more cruel, hands picking, picking and taking for civet stools.
My fate is sewn the fabric weaved. Life is but a breath of precious new berries and strong leaves.
Give I to the world each day for nothing back yet my nature is to endure and expect nothing in return. At least the hands need me and won’t let me burn.
I am a coffee tree proud and loved by hands in need.
