Alas, I am stuck In the crevices of timeRoot, branch and leaf,And all my persuits To extricate myselfFrom this messare staunchly thwartedFacing stiff resistanceFrom my own ilk,My unruly branchesA nearly crooked trunk With its covetous barkRough and dark,Leaves, tender and ancient,Whistling two hoots for me in the windSitting tipsy on the roof of sorrowOf their forefathersLike the telephone wires abuzz in war zones-Bearers of the bad newsAs if possessedWith primordial evil spirits,Leaves newly mintedPublished one after the otherIn quick successionWith tender veins In paper thin, translucent parchmentsCheerily admired by a bunch of prancing squirrels Chasing bristled tails of one anotherIn the company of a scarlet macawTarrying again and againTo inspect the newest, light green and brown leaf twinsLike a set of nascent babiesFreshly brought home from nature's maternity To the undiluted exhilaration of their older siblings.O Macaw, When will I be a squirrel,With a bottlebrush tail?Can't I be a three striped one?To scamper about,Sans branch and root and leaf and trunk, Wrapped in a wrinkled winter-coat.If this cannot beLet me be born as a daisyFor a day,Before I am swept in the breeze