Ficus tree

I did not grow you  
I am an agent of your birthright
You are not my ward
We are siblings
And I suspect you will water me in another cycle
You are of old ancestry  
More venerable than speech could convey
A lineage of goddesses  
Who choose to afford us breath
Providing us the platform to flower or falter
great priestesses of essence  
I do not own you
Although there was a purchase
You are deep and founded  
Steeped in the the language of creation
Each supple branch a statement , a lesson
Written on the boundaries of my microcosm  
I did not grow you
I am you