Swaying to and fro,
     weathering breeze and gale -
          silently, leafless.

Standing ***** like sometimes I,
     casting shadows twice a day -
          never sleeping in the night’s, darkness.

Birds tend to rest upon their lofty branches,
     but for a moment -
          others a seasons, length.

Fluid from the sky drains to its roots,
     nourished by the abundant ground swells -
          growth spurts upward and, full.

The dull green color will never change,
     its hue will be recognized differently -
          during clouded, skies.

Its death may come as, lightning, STRIKES!