A Road of Poetry

Climb a Tree

It was a place

Of opportunities

Like fruit on a tree

Which you had to reach for,

But I was too busy

Watching the ground

In hopes that

The fruit would fall

Right in front of me.

So I scouted the ground

While the others

Climbed higher.

I whined about

My misfortunes

But it was my own doing.

Time was ticking

And forever flowing

I could barely follow along.

Now here I am,

Tired and sad,

My head drooping

From years

Of looking down

Instead of towards

The sky.

But there are

Many opportunities

And as late

My will may be,

It's not too late

To climb a tree.