The Lovely Misery Of A Tree

Here I am, growing out of the bark and woodchips. The grass and obscure plants surround my stationary post. Across the way, there is a beautiful Oak. Oak is tall, mighty, and strong. He has plentiful leaves, like I, but he doesn't comment on it. He has been here for old ages. He has seen the world in different ways, but perhaps not more. He has learned for longer times and has witnessed stronger love. My braches are short. They extend out, testing if I can reach Oak. My branches aren't long enough to reach him. I can only lean so much, but I cannot get close to him. Oak may want to be more close to me, but I have been asleep the days that he has tried to lean and reach and have our branches connect in an incredible combustion. The students can discuss what all living things have in common, but they have not dwelled on love. For we trees may not have brains, but within our deep, brown bark, there is a wooden heart that contains an everlasting curse of love. What evil force has made me this form that must stay in place? So, here I am, standing, watching, waiting, and wanting, forevermore.