The Boy and his Tree

The boy flies down to the creek

His shoes leading him there

Down the twisty track

Without a single care

He reaches the creek

Excitement bubbling in him

And the cold harsh wind

Like knives on his skin

His tree is standing there

A tall, strong soldier

Or a mother waiting anxiously

Until her son comes to hold her

The wind is howling at him now

An angry, raging beast

So he climbs up his tree

Where the shrieking has ceased

After some time

When the beast begins to yawn

The boy leaves his tree’s arms

To come back another dawn