It's not as if I revere you, I do, in fact, maybe too much. When we drive into Olde Town, I see you as my alma mater with a wide-embrace, arms extending, and your wide-gap smile. You are silly, you know. That Spanish-moss, uncombed, and whittling hair speaks of your age. Also, of truth, of affliction, in experiencing beauty, and all.
Thinking this. Knowing this. Brings tears to my eyes. I must be similar to that boy and his tree. The one who just kept on taking, and taking? His story is famous. Do you know of that Giving Tree? Do I take you for granted? No, no, no, I am not like him. I celebrate you in decorum. Yes, in de-co-rum.
NYPL Digital Gallery
