I am the tree.
Always rooted strongly to the ground, looking up at the sky.
Always staying still, while others pass me by.
Some times things get caught in my branches.
But that they will stay with me, there are little chances.
Because all it takes for them to fly away,
is a gust of wind on a stormy day
They leave me behind alone,
and go to places to me unknown
I stay back, right or wrong,
because this is the place to which I belong.
With time I will grow old.
All my stories untold.
Until the day of the big storm.
My roots too weak to perform.
Memories will flash me by,
as I try one last stretch towards the sky.
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