Time grows like us

I grow, like them. 

Weak, thin twigs

Time. Time. Time.

To sturdy branches.

Their fragile arms turn S T R O N G.

I have watched them from when they first came

And they played, but no more. 

Now they don’t talk much 

Or hug my sap-filled skin

I don't think they care for me anymore

And they begin to break apart

Then one day

They are g o n e

I wait to see

If they return.

Summer. The sun dries my leaves

Autumn. Green. Red. Brown. Yellow.

Winter. My branches are barren.

Spring. Flowers bloom. 

And they don’t.