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Rated: E · Poetry · Environment · #2014159
The title pretty much sums it up.


I find it ironic

How people think me wise

For I was born from a nut

How I can be so tall

Yet most of my life

I was only a sprout

How I say not a word

But I’m known for my bark

I was born before most

And look over they're graves

One day I would like to leave this town

For I have seen too much sorrow

But sadly I have to stick to my roots

This is the life of a tree



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