in a tree

On the edge of the woods,

She sits in a tree.

A perspective the house,

Isn’t tall enough to see. 

Her knife cuts the trunk,

Where she carves out a name.

The tree holds the letters,

And doesn’t complain.

Branches like arms,

Are holding her high.

She stares at the bark,

Through watery eyes.

No one’s below,

It’s quiet up there.

So she sings a little song,

To the wind in the air.

She waits for the sun,

To fade underneath.

Then makes the descent,

She can’t live in a tree.