Water me.
Quench my thirst.
Let my roots prosper.
Cleanse my bark;
Filter my breath for the world.
Winter chills my bones, seeds.
Gather my lovely leaves;
Don’t let them wither in a pile.
Press them in a book of some sorts;
Keep them smiling for at least a little while more.
Stop scorching my tiled skin, dear Sun.
Sweet children, please stop poking my eyes.
Young lovers, collect my bark that falls;
Do not strip me while still innocent.
I am not lonely;
My soul is right beside me.
He keeps the sun from blinding my sight.
He keeps my hope from falling flat.
But mostly, he keeps me happy.
Happy to be a tree.
Happy to be me.