Thousands of us all around you.
We protect you all the time,
Yet you treat us badly...

You burn us in public buildings
to make you seem better;

You try to make us straight,
but most of us refuse usually;

When we are dead, you are pleased.
Yet, when we are gone, you are sad.

What are we?

everyone thinks its hair...but i think its trees

Posted by lola on 2004-09-04 19:58:27