Wilted White Flowers

A Poem by Little Crow

There is
an apple tree
stretching over
my garage
reaching towards
my window, thrown
open tempting the
breeze

my parents hated the tree
because it never had
a season where
it was bearing any
fruit
I didn't mind though
it was good company
in the lazy afternoons
it provided a shady spot
to read
and was always willing
to let me lean on it
for support

I used to sit
under that apple tree
and read my favorite books
to it
because I never had
a friend
for that

I used to wonder
why the tree
chose to grow
away from the
forest
and towards me
but now I know

I'm the only friend
that apple tree ever
had