Not far from where I wait in the morning
For my big blue bus to come and take me
To that mandatory place of learning
I glanced around me, and happened to see,
a small tree, Acting much like a forest.
It was dinky, petite, a little cute,
It’s leaves were miniature, unlike It’s heart
Which was large and full in that puny shoot.
It seemed un-isolated, like a part
Of some greater thing, apart from Itself.
It’s sinewy branches reached up too high;
Grasping and stretching, as though It supposed
That if it used all it’s self, it could fly
Far from this cold street, where it is exposed
To the sharp malaise of forced solitude.















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