Tree Poetry

I am a tree-

a thick oak,

maybe a weeping willow.

Sometimes

I droop;

I try to remain strong.

My roots

are entangled in

the same soil

you were sourced from.

We both GROW

and bend

toward sunlight.

One of us

pierces the firmament,

while the other

twists aimlessly over

seven sands,

trying to find a home.

I am a seed-

only halfway planted.

The tree in me

begs for more water,

knowing none

will come

when I thirst for it most.