Ungrateful

The sadness of the ax reveals, without its handle,
At the very near, finding a Ficus religiosa tree,
Said, O my savior.

Said in a gurgling voice-
Will you provide me a dried bough,
Only then can I be effective,
I'll get back my working rhythm.

With a huge heart of the tree,
Said, my dear, obtain it,
I’m donating it for your action.

Suddenly the completed ax-
Began to slash the trunk of the tree,
To acknowledge the benefits of the benefactor
Does anyone cares a little!