sapling

Of course I want to be the source
of the warm season springing,
dappled shade and singing -
and of course, my nature
is not completely my choice.

I do belong with feathers,
a hand helping hold up the sky -
to carrying these pastel mornings
into their indigo twilights,
I easily give
my little life.

I sigh before the crickets, true,
and whisper before wings -
I tell the air my stories
before the wind says anything.

I know I am to hold
the climbing children
and the homes, the rest the birds are building,
and yes, the melodies that fill them -

but these arms are, after all,
so thin.
Sometimes I think I'm just too small.