A fruitless tree standing tall,
Holding tight to this nest of a home,
Birds fly around then give him a call,
He swings their kids and they claim him home.
He touches the sky,
He plays with the stars,
Then the kids grew up and they learned to fly,
They flew away maybe to the mars.
He’s still standing still,
The birds are gone away,
Then looked at the ground, everyone is little,
Looked straight ahead and saw a lot of ways,
Some Straight, some curved, some intersect,
He now wants to walk a distance,
See the world from another place,
He wished his roots could walk just once,
Even if it’s till the end of that fence,
“I could call that fence another place.”
He’s feeling feelings he’d never felt,
A little sad and a little more mad,
Here comes a girl with head a bit tilt,
Oh you poor tree, you look so sad,
The tree shed some tears of frustration,
Look daddy! Water droplets, transpiration!
YOU ARE READING
I Wrote It All For Me
PoetryPoems. For myself, of my moods, my life, just me and my feelings. Most of them are fictious (or are they?). I'll leave it to you readers, let your imagination wander.
