Arciform body, asperous flesh. Decades in a rooted stance Embellished in the works of Greats, A nature's eminence. Each leaf a gem. Each fruit a crystalline étoile, Brimming with a metaphor For time, morality, and death. Prodigious in its unawareness. Abundant in beauty, limitless in language A million uses for pretentious egos. Surely, it is tired of being used. Maybe, it is content in just existing. Maybe, symbols found are in our heads. And maybe, in a shocking twist of fate, It's just a tree.