I’m a Tree

If I were a plant, I think I would be a maple tree.

It grows, stretching it’s roots far into the ground, covering mysterious soil.

It’s bark forms as the trunk rises and grows.

Twisting and turning it faces storm after storm.

Standing ever precariously, inching ever upwards towards the sun.

Yes, if I were a maple tree, I think I would have nests.

Birds would come and flock to me.

They would nest among my branches, seeking my shelter, warmth, and care.

Squirrels would burrow within my trunk, getting the closest of all.

But never knowing the imprint that they leave inside.

I would sway with the wind.

My leaves would blossom, bloom, and then eventually fall and fade away.

Cracks and crevices would streak across my bark as it slowly withers with time.

Secret rings would form in my core, hiding my true age from the outside world.

But then, one day there would be a man.

A silent man who would come for me.

“I see you” he would whisper, “And I claim you, as mine”.

Unlike the birds and squirrels that take and feast upon my form,

the man would simply tap into my spirit.

Droplets of sweet sap would begin to fill his cup.

And he would take from me, little by little, drinking his fill,

But never leaving me too dry.

He would nourish and protect me from those that would do me harm.

And there, in the still of the forest, he would become my guardian.

Yes, I think I could see myself as a tree.

That would be nice.


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