Me? A tree?
But that cannot be
Surely you’ll see
that for me
to be tree
would be so completely
odd
If I were a tree
my metaphorical me
would be wood you see
not this fantastic sea
My roots and my fruits
would know life, it’s true
But my shoots and my leaves
would geographically
stay close to my branches
and that just couldn’t be
Because love and ideas
expand way past fears
out into the world
to grow and evolve
And in their own way
make this tree feel old
And though you might say
in your metaphorical play
that my pollen might act
in a similar way
I would opine
with a smirking all mine
“But I don’t make anyone sneeze.”

[thinking of the silliest interview question ever: “If you were a tree, what sort of tree would you be?”]