Rooted in soil
I reach to pull the clouds
After many years I may reach
In luck I may be nearer
If I were to grow on mountain
Against concrete I grow in city
In luck I grow in parks
Feel squirrels scamper
Amidst children in my branch
In City
In Valley
On mountains
The clouds ever call me
If I cannot reach
My seed scatters on winds
Of ambition never ending
Always climbing
I may reach
From the high places
Where I can be
From the walls and
Gutters of abandoned buildings
Cracks on Walls
The Sands of cliffs
I reach to pull the clouds
My purpose with the clouds
Must be known to them
As they stay so far away
Beyond my reach
This does not bother me
The clouds can distance with fear
I have nowhere to go
But to go up
This I must do
My purpose is ever to go up
Can you say this?
Whatever you may say.
it matters not
I will still reach
Jim French
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tree-30/
