Reflections from the Poettree

There's a gentle breeze whistling through the leaves
We fill branches, but the tree never shows any semblance of a burden borne
As they climb higher, fingertip grips are all we have to go on
We'd all do anything to keep from falling

Meanwhile, I've found my niche, a low place to lay out and take it all in
Calm, relaxed, I gaze up at everyone I've looked out for
Brothers I brought along for the ride, sisters I shed tears with,
Lost love and found friends with never a mind for authority

Now, I cannot claim the brilliance of planting this tree,
But I found myself drawn to its roots,
And somehow, a family found its roots in me
Here on my last days in these parts,
I feel a nagging sense of unfulfillment-
That I didn't do enough for those who needed nothing from me

And maybe it's just self-importance, but I hope I matter to them
I hope that, as they continue to ascend, they'll remember who stayed behind
And remember him fondly- their patriarch, their poet-
But that they then continue on their ways to biggers and betters,
Knowing that as the air thins and they lose sight of the ground,
I'll do what I can to keep the bottom strong for them...

And though we may later descend, though foliage may fall,
Our moments, our memories, our hearts stay fast...
The tree lives on