“A poem about free will and convention in an arboreal setting.”

If I were the wind,

I would whip the clouds away,

until the trees asked for water

to unwind the skies

and let the rain roar down.

If I was a worm,

I would curl in a secret hole,

explore the brown deep,

and itch my back on the spine

of the rocky earth.

If I were the trees,

I would praise the clouds,

chat with the worms and birds,

and hope the humans

never want to break the root.

for the root is all,

for a tree that is.

Because the plans of a tree

do not exist, unlike

our plans for trees.

but a tree may still hope,

because a will is not hooked

to an intelligent brain,

but it is an automatic flair for life

to live and live more.

So before you dismiss the natural

tendencies of unbroken will,

please be wise to the design of words

like will, freedom, and life,

so all that lives has the will to be awake.