I watched you growing from afar.
The distance doesn't blur what I see.
I've watched storms strip your leaves,
branches fall at my knees.
Fruit wasted.

New buds have sprouted,
stronger than the ones last year.
The leaves from those buds flourish.
Broken limbs slowly grow back,
if at all.

Yet you grow taller, stonger.
Your roots dig deep,
making precise calculations to say hi.
You invite me to build with you.
A treehouse, safe in your limbs.

I prune you.
You feed me.