I wonder, I hope, I am

I wonder about trees.
As I look up above while stoping in the middle of Drummoyne Bay run, glancing at an excluded short palm tree swaying as if it were a pendulum drifting from side to side continuously in the breeze.
While I stare at the short palm tree I announce to my self,
I wish I was a tree.
My head softly laid on the tough roots, so tough as if they were a rock, a fist, a root.
Again as I glanced up staring at an excluded short palm tree, all by its lonely self no other different type of wood the short palm tree could ever talk too.
This palm tree knew that when he was planted in one spot, he stays there forever.
The envy leaves poured on me as if it were silk, 
Then I finally thought to myself if I can’t be a tree,
I could still be friends with one.