That Tree

Maybe one day a symphony will sing for me,
now-a-days no one really sings.
and surely, yes surely.
No one sings for me.

Not even the Blue-jay

who sits up in that tree.
We have something in common,
we are both blue.

And that tree knows all.
Swaying in the wind,
that tree laughs at us mockingly.
He shakes his branches to emphasize the humor.


He shouldn't laugh.
I am more free than he.
Grounded he stays.
Watching and growing wiser by the day.

At least I can walk. So I start walking.
Bye, bye Blue-jay. Off he goes. Making me stay.
He is more free in comparison to me.
he flies around piously.

I just don't get it.
His freedom means nothing.

And his beauty?Artificial.

Even that tree ponders he.

I ask that tree a question.
If I am more free compared to you,
and the blue-jay compared to me,
then why can he not sing?

But in a slight sway of the branches,
and a few worried glances,
I now figured out that I was talking to:
that tree.