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!
