Needled

He stood there alone
Upon a whistful hill
A cool breeze
Ran through him
He shook with it
But he held his ground
And stayed where he was
He was dressed in green
(He always wore green
As he admired his surroundings
He watched his feathered friends
Soar through the cool air
And sometimes
Watched with interest
As they occasionally
Yank lucklustre worms
Out of the ground
Like vermian spaghetti
The wind
Chilled further
As he wrapped his thick green coat
Tightly around himself
He then daydreamed
That one day
He would waken
To find himself stuck in a bucket
With lights thrown all around his body
And he thought
Such a strange dream
For a tree to have

by Jemia