A Tree

The crooked tree

Stands with glee

Before the morning sunrise.

Unaware of deformity,

With no thought of disparity,

It sings me on my morning commute. 

The crook in all our natures 

Created when saplings 

Has no bearing on the length

Of our branches 

Or the depth

Of our roots. 

It rather gives an endearing 

Quirk, a perk

In the green wood

To provide uniqueness.