What must it be like
To live in the trees
Hold tight with your hands
And bend with the breeze
The first on your block
To know when it rains
With a Birdseye view
Of what flows to the drains
What must it be like
On a warm summer’s day
With no place to be
And no bills to pay
With a tune in your head
From a long-ago time
In a tree that your neighbor
Finds too hard to climb
What must it be like
With nothing to dust
No mud on your shoes
Or salty white crust
So close to the clouds
They get in your nose
So far from the ground
You can’t stub your toes
What must it be like
To sit on a limb
Where Robins sing melodies
Cardinals sing hymns
I know what it’s like
with the aid of the fence
climbed up here last Friday
been
stuck ever since.
zc
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