I give you air;
And my fruits, I share;
In my shade, you stand;
Yet my value, you don’t understand;
What am I?

You use me to make paper;
And at my death, you don’t get hyper;
I burn to make you warm;
To destroy me has become a norm;
What am I?

My homeland is taken to give you a home;
It won’t be long, that I would be standing lone;
All I ask is you replace my life with another like my own;
But does anyone listen to my moan;
What am I?