If I Were A Tree

If I were a tree,

Which tree would I be?

The old or the young?

The weak or the strong?

 

Would I be destined for glory?

The highlight of a story?

Or to live absent of mind,

Where peace I shall never find.

 

Yet how sweet to see,

All that the world can be.

A scene for the lucky,

A scene for the free.

 

If I were a tree,

Which tree would I be?

The short or the tall?

To stand or to fall?

 

Would I be home to a family?

Provide comfort and security?

To be vastly warn away,

By the extent of their stay.

 

Yet how nice to grow,

As companies of others show.

Surely time shall be kind,

And spare ruins left behind.

 

If I were a tree,

Which tree would I be?

Will I flourish in winter?

Will I flourish in summer?

 

How nice to be a pine,

And know Christmas is all mine.

To be a present of the grandest kind,

Beautified by memories of one’s design.

 

Yet summer promises bright,

Truly the warmest delight.

The flowers all will envy,

As day by day their scents admire me.

 

If I were a tree,

What would I see?

Would I see only what I wanted to see?

Only that which pleases me?

 

Or do I see everything?

Everything under moon and sun?

As winds softly whisper to me,

All they believe my knowledge need.

 

Yet how frightening it would be,

To only know what one will only show,

The wicked wind’s spell,

Chooses wisely what it tells.

 

If I were a tree,

Restless would I be.

As that which is designed to comfort me,

Inevitably becomes my worst enemy.

 

Forevermore, my questions remain.

As my scent admires that which I envy.

For I;

A lowly flower,

Shall forever wonder,

If I were a tree, which tree would I be?