To be a tree
rooted in our own social network
waving madly at all our friends.
Home to all creatures,
showing off our colours,
even though our leaves begin to wrinkle
in autumn nights.
To be a tree
could be very cold.
Bitten by the frost, battered by the wind,
we sparkle in the winter sun,
clinging to life.
A fur coat made of snow, sad and bare.
To be a tree
is to be born again
like groundhog day,
flip the hourglass and begin again.
Breathing out oxygen into the atmosphere,
this is where life starts.