Although but a tree, a little something more to me.
Of many merry memories, needless to say,
the best from my childhood took place in the evening.
Not a single night would ever go by,
that without fright I'd climb up my cottonwood tree.
I'd sit up there for hours, alone with my thoughts.
In attempt to count shooting stars,
I'd often drift into soft sleep.
But when I came home from school one day, something was off.
“Wheres my tree?” I cried. I immediately could tell mother
didn’t want to say, how he had been chopped down
and sent away to be made into something more useful.
I struggled to understand why my tree had been taken. The only reasoning I could think of was that someone needed him more than me,
that he was making a change, but in a different form.
I will always remember my cottonwood tree.