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No oak am I, though leaves do fall
Littered soil below my crown
No aspen slender, fragile sway
Shimmering in moonlight glow
No cedar thick, in hide and bark
Shallow tendrils just touching earth
Perhaps a maple descript in leaf
Sweet nectar in my blood
No rose am I, though thorns do sting
Scented pleasure sometimes found
No violet bright, vibrant shade
Adding dreams to where I grow
No Lilly deep, in hue and root
Colors made to match a mood
Forget me not, forever yours
As if you ever could
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Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
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