The Tree

There is a tree that stands not far away,
For ten years it has stood withered,
Amongst other living trees and flowers.
No water has it taken within,
No pine needles have ever fallen,
Yet it stands vigilante,
Through rain and snow and summer heat,
This tree has not the will to become of dreams.
I have stood beside this tree,
Looked within its branches,
Only wondering is this me
Within the city,
Or is this a tree awaiting destiny,
And I am a liken to its being free.
Will this tree ever become green?
Soft within the breeze,
Growing within to be
Will nature accept what it is bearing?
Standing never alone,
With only an ounce of life to keep being
A tree of life never un moving
Forgiving the rains for forgetting
As it stands waiting to become born.