In my remains I plant a seed;

I germinate, extend my roots,

Foundation for self-masterpiece.

I sprout my stem into a trunk,

Proportions of which beggar awe.

My leaves spring forth

from branches high

And spread to eat the sun and moon.

My waist grows tall to reach the sky

Throughout a thousand years of life.

My cones will wait decades or more

To split and birth my progeny.