She comes by everyday
in a dress of pastel colors.
Underneath my leaves the color of hay,
she sits, hugging my twisted roots.
I watch her run down the emerald meadow,
with the sweet light glowing off her hair.
And when the field is covered in snow,
she brings warmth to the icicles on my arms.
And every year,
And every year, I reach out.
My branches growing closer to her.
And when she comes by,
And when she comes by, I shout
Waiting for her to shout back.
But she never does
But she never does for she never hears,
my quiet voice that runs with the wind
or my sticky tears from over the years.