Up in a tree, I sit.
A tall tree.
Not like the ones around me.
All mangled and stunted.
Actually, just over there
sits my tree.
An unclimbable stump, shortened
by actions not forgiven easily.
I can’t help but think what
this tree did to get so big.
Maybe its owner was good to it.
Maybe it grows wild, like I am.
Giving a friend to the masses
and other life.
A support for everything else.
But mine has spent all its
good feelings.
Nothing left to give, but
an obstacle for all to walk over.
Maybe, one day, someone will come
to let me live here.
In this tree of trees.
Rick S.
Circa 1993-ish