The "Unfortunate" Tree

The "Unfortunate" Tree

He is standing by the tree,

Counting the growing leaves.

When the whooping wind blows,

The green filled branches,

Struggle to the music of the wind.

His feet are stuck to the ground.

No breeze or blow can budge him.

He is determined to stand by the tree,

Enjoying the sensation,

Of being the only one who stands still.

He sees the lonely leaves,

Whos blossoming buds have shed to the ground.

The tree shivers with the rushing wind,

And he imagines it could use some warmth.

Yet,

The misery is all that he sees,

With that obnoxious blindness within him.

He does not see the change of colors,

That come with the Fall, Summer, and Spring.

He can not fathom,

The growing cells in every leaf.

He doesn't see at all,

Mr. Two feet on the ground.

But I can clearly see,

The sight of him walking away,

Leaving the tree to be.