Tree Thing
The Standing for decades void of glory
Swaying gently in the breeze
Bracing for winters freeze
Year after year through the season change
Limbs and branches rearranged
Only when it’s cut for timber
Do they count its rings and remember
How tall and luxuriant it used to stand
Languishing seasons with no helping hands
Necessary for the air we breath
Oxygen, storing carbon released through leaves
Provides food and shelter beauty brings
Life would be difficult if trees were not a thing