You and I
You and I
Were once two trees–
Two budding saplings
Placed too close
To grow together
An Upstate transplant,
My midwestern limbs,
Opened wide to hold you,
Casting too much shade
On your bright canopy
Your restless, nascent roots
Still longed to wind and stretch
Beyond my sturdy trunk,
And deeply drink
From cooler earth
And so we said goodbye,
Shedding our early leaves,
As I was suddenly uprooted,
And carried west
To my native range
Countless signals fired and died
From our maturing foliage,
As we battled blizzards, bugs, and blights
Growing taller and stronger
With each passing year
But as the seasons came and went,
And we both grew apart,
We kept the warmth
Of a sun once shared
Etched forever in our bark
Until one day we were tall enough
To see each other from miles away,
And felt the pull of an old apricity,
Willing our boughs to reunite,
And share the forest together.
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