Yudaica

It is stopped in the one of it, is Arvorela there. Leafy tree, with ample pantry, that from time to time, in the station most cinereous receives the pruning and exactly thus, all is felt chats. It is that our green friend suffers badly from one very serious one, enraizite delirantis, and that still for science, it is a great mystery. Since seed, encrustrada in the belly of the mother Land, ours affected Arvorela already it freed its interminable pearls: – Vocs knows what the seed spoke for land? Nobody? Nobody? It said: she leaves from above me! Engraadssimo is not! It has! It has! It has! – my people, this start did not have end! Arvorela felt that in its seiva the purest DNA of comedian ran and its neighbors, there of the field with prados verdejantes, did not find this there much stimulant. It said that she adored to make ' ' mood verde' ' , that it helped it to the photosyntheses to carry through gaseous exchanges, therefore suffered from arrest of trunk and there in gostosas outbursts of laughter, swore that with its neighbors marked point. Ledo deceit; badly humoradas jacarand, cabreva, peroba, jatob and the impetuous pine, they only remained, at those piadistas moments of Arvorela, to metralhar for air, rains of thorn in way to an accident esparrela.

wants to know? Arvorela, ours comedirvore, used what it had of better growing and its twigs, fruits and leves were always to blossom. It provoked the envy and the discomfort, in that one ' ' povo' ' that already it tava exactly half dead. Our friend saw everything its return with eyes of mudinha, that still she had much what to learn and its mood, for times incoveniente, left never it of this to forget and thus followed in front. Because what it matters in this life, exactly being a tree, it is to have firm roots, to always have itself where to come back, until when a well prepared pantry is not left the place and, stuffed of love, so that if it does not need wing to fly. today, unhappyly my people, different being, is in this to give value! Thus, Arvorela, ours so taken root comedirvore, flied!

If one day will be sad, Not if it discourages It leaves to roll in the eyes a tear, heart one prece and the mouth a poetry Therefore the ones are not cowards that cry for love, But yes the ones that they from fear do not love crying. The ways of the life do not take me as I wanted. The roads of my heart Make as many curves. I cover the way of the solitude, Desperate, sad, inconsolvel. I do not know what to make, the sky fell down on me, the world gave the coasts to me. The fear of the walked one, the fear of looking at pra front, consumes me to Everything. It does not have nobody looking at for me possessed me to the egoism.

My friend is pain. As the ways of the life are obscure. As we are egoistic in as much fondness. How not to fear? The abysses that wait in them. How to dream? If to each step it has a rock and in each flower, a thorn. When and as we will reach the true happiness EWALD KOCH