I know the difficulty
of breaking through concrete
to soar into the sky.
I know the frustration
of holding rage inside.
How nice it would feel to drop a branch on that
man carving sentiments into your bark.
I know you get sad,
and every year, you cry your leaves down, leaving
you naked and vulnerable.
What I can never know
the mystery of how you can bear to send out
Light green, whisper thin, shimmering in the wind.
An admirer at your roots.