Стихотворение "A man is made of flesh and blood" по грамматической теме Passive voice

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?

A man is made of flesh and blood

Of eyes and bones and water.

The very same things make his son

As those that make his daughter.

A tree is made of leaf and sap,

Of bark and fruit and berries

It keeps a bird’s nest In its branches

And blackbirds eat the cherries.

A table is made of naked wood

Planned smooth as milk. I wonder

If tables ever dream of sun

Of wind. And rain, and thunder?

And when man takes his axe and strikes

And sets the sawdust flying –

Is it a table being born?

Or just a tree that’s dying?