I wonder how it would be
If I were some kind of tree
To have the squirrels run up my bark
And house two love birds in the dark
To never need to eat some food
When my leaves fall off I’m in the nude
I have no feet; I cannot walk
I have no mouth with which to talk
Here I stand without a sound
Growing from the hard, cold ground
I remember back when I was born
I used to be a small acorn
My mother used to be right there
They chopped her down and made a chair
My brother, he became a dock
My grandfather is now a clock
My second cousin is a salad bowl
My Aunt Bertha is a telephone pole
It is chilly in the winter
Wander close and get a splinter
I wanted to leave, but I just stood
It’s hard to move when you are made of wood
I’m covered with moss, or so I’ve heard
And little white doo drops from a bird
Right when I want to take a nap
Some bozo comes by and drains my sap
I am a fire hydrant for a dog
If you cut me down I am a log
I’m glad to say that I am me
And really not some kind of tree