Trees

Cut me down,
     like the trees you do.
Except you cut the fall,
     and I cut the skin.

And from your trees,
     the sap of fresh maple drips.
Yet from my skin,
     the blood rushes and clots,
          trapped.

Let me be free,
     let there be a tomorrow for me.
The maple escapes,
     so why can't I?

The cold wind catches,
     and soon it slows down
          and freezes.
Caught escaping,
     but still let it flow.


Let it flow,
     let me grow.
                                  Keep me from the sharp edge,
                                       and let there be a tomorrow.

** Written in 2011