The Tree - Revised

I guess I just don't get the message. This is the second time I've revised this challenging poem. I know I didn't have to do it, but it seemed I wasn't getting anywhere the first time. In a world where trees are what keep us breathing, it seemed, we, as a people, and as a world in general need to appreciate them more than we actually do. (Don't get the wrong idea, please. I AM NOT A 'TREE HUGGER." Meaning I do not, and would not, advocate violence to combat paper mills, tree farmers, or saw mills, for the life of a tree. I love the smell of fresh paper too much.) But as an individual who loves writing, I need paper to write on. But the beauty of a tree is breath-taking. Especially such beautiful ones as the Giant Sequoias, the mighty Oak, the all-encompassing Spruce tree, and we should all appreciate the beauty around us. I just hope I did it justice in how I described what the tree really means. (I told you I was a perfectionist. I am always striving to be better.)

Can I justify a life like mine?

Can I?

Can I say my life began by the dropping of a seed?

Or notice the passing of the seasons, like the dropping of a leaf?

Can I say my roots were the cause of my life?

Or can I justify the permanence of strife?

Can I say I sheltered the poor and infirm?

Or does it count for nothing, the shelter of the berm?

Can I say the sky above ever loved me?

Or doesn't it count the wind rustled straight through me?

Can I say the clouds above ever noticed me below?

Or do you believe only man is foolish enough to know?

From sunup to sundown the soil has always held me tight.

From Earth worms to Inch worms, to termites, spiders and ants,

Do you think I am only a feast of sup, no more, no less, at a glance?

Can I say the birds who roosted in me ever left anything but droppings on the ground?

Shelter from storms, shelter from snow, am I not proud?

Can I say the river at my back ever left anything but sand at my feet?

Or do you think my feet don't need anything ever to drink?

Can I say the river never ran over its bank in my life?

From dusk till dawn, the water ran on, down an embankment in the creek.

Squirrels, Hawks, Doves, and Grouse all called my arms their home.

Yet here I stand, forever silent, lonely and alone.

Can I see anything in the distance but my brothers suffering my same fate?

The one and only, proud and true, branching out from this date.

As the years crawled by, frustration and confusion built my life I know.

But everything is eventual; even time, storms and snow.

Can I say He who is All ever noticed me?

God, The Father, The One.

Can I say any of these things and NOT be what I am?

Can I say?

What am I?

I am ME.

The Mighty Tree.

I know what the world calls me to do.

Do you?

I know the Earth and all that's here.

Do you see as well like me?

I love the wood, the smell, the feel

Each day is made for thee.

If ever I forget, the Lord, the Land,

Then be not proud of me.

For you see, each day is blessed

The making of the mighty tree.

Happy writing! (And I wouldn't put it past me, to try this yet again. Never stop striving to be better.)