I'ma tree.

I was made to be shattered, and shattered to be made concrete

Firmly made anew to grow, and grown to eagerly branch out

Meekly branching out to expose my leaves to the Sun

And fasten my limbs tightly to my fellow trees around

Together we stand in the course of sunny days and angry gales,

Freely giving of our fruit to the hungry who come along

They take refuge at our roots, in our cooling shade

Seizing the humble serenity and marveling at the Sun

We whisper tales of our beginning, travels, and anticipation

Until the axe says, "I'm sorry, but I'm the true shining light."

I cry, “No, axe, it’s not you, it’s not me. I’ll boast only in the Sun.

I will not bow down to any other; you’ll just have to cut me down.”