Publisher's Synopsis
The beech is old, starting to die Know it shall soon no longer stand All too soon, no child such as I Shall ever reach out with his hand To feel the scars some other made When as a child himself did reach To carve 'pon the trunk with some blade To make his mark upon the beech. But the ones who do lay there still ... The answer would be the same by each, There never was and never will Be any place like 'neath the beech
