Without a forest
The tree stands solitary upon it's trunk
It's branches climbing towards the sky
It's leaves turning silver in the moon,

Without a wood
The thick stem standing by my window
Given company by the owls of the night
And young flowers that bloom.


Without a sibling
That would mirror it's surface
Without the scent of another likely tree,
Standing in solitude
Without stirred fears
Like our hands letting each other free.


Without my gaurdian
Making sounds to divert my nightmares
Standing tall, eastern poplar
Creeking against the garden fence,

Without my tree
Swaying slightly in the fickle wind
Making patterns on my walls
Releasing feelings that are tense.


Without the leaves
That fall in autumn
Without the colours for me to keep,
To paint my life a little lighter
Lonely feelings that run so deep.