The Sentience of Trees

Do you suppose that trees are grateful souls,

And bless the land on which they firmly stand?

Will trees thank cloud for water that it doles,

And sun for what it does to make it grand?

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Or do they dread the dangers that surround?

For tiny creatures sometimes cause them harm.

And do they fear when lightning strikes abound,

Or when an axe appears upon an arm?

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Then yet again, just how much do they know?

They may not be aware of anything.

And leaning at the whims of winds that blow,

Are all the smarts to which they truly cling.

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Regardless of our forest's sentient state,

That trees are lovely, no one can debate.