If a tree was me and I a tree,
it would be fun to feel
wet droplets race,
after rain, down my trunk,
trickle freely
through dark clefts
between great hairy feet, lace
my roots with good
mineralized water, ******,
up through cells
straight to my thick rough
branchy-green dome
to be greedily drunk, frilly
veined leaves only
exist by this filtered liquid.

Distilled from the ground,
ambrosial nectar,
sun-powered and essential
oozes life for trees
and refined by climb, juices
enliven, energize,
and find ways to help cells
exhale the vital
oxygen needed by humans.

Trees with such use now die
in the millions,
and yearly polluted by greed
or carelessly cleared,
bequeath earth dire travesty,
for when denuded
life-forms end and disappear.