Stretch up and up;
Reach out each limb, each branch
Until you touch the sun,
Like Icarus,
Watching embers fall;
Each joint creaking in the wind;
A hollow orchestra
Of the ancients,
And if you listen,
You might hear something worthwhile,
Because trees have been around
For longer than most,
And they understand
The meaning of all
(Or at least they claim they do),
Because they've heard it
From the birds and the bees;
But in the end, all are the same:
Making wishes upon fallen stars --
He loves me,
He loves me not --
As the petals fall to the ground,
Hopelessly hoping for spring to arrive
Without enduring the biting frost
Of wintertime.
