I don't think I've ever heard a tree complain about being just a tree,
About those roots locking them to the ground, or all the things it doesn't get to see,
Maybe they get tired of squirrels and cats, or birds perched on branches they provide,
I wonder if they have some envy under that bark, does jealousy reside inside?
Tomboys climb, canines sniff, a tire swing hangs off a limb,
Do they feel naked in the fall, scared in the winter, do trees imagine what they might have been?
I suppose I could think of a million reasons, way too many to try and name,
For the Oak, the Redwood, Pine and Fir, or Sequoia to complain,
To be just a tree, I imagine must be, quite the unbearable task,
Sentenced to a lifetime of silence, never, crying, never sharing a laugh,
When we call them majestic might they feel miniscule, when we say grand could they be feeling glum,
Not being able to correct my describer, might leave me frustratingly numb,
Still though, I've never heard a tree complain about being, just a tree,
Do you think it could be something as simple, as just a tree is what a tree wants to be?