agricultural

A Cry Of The Potted Plant

A Poem By Taylor // 6/10/2007

Plant me near the ocean
so I can stand beside the sea.
Find a barren hillside
and take me there, if it needs a tree.

Let my branches brush the clouds
like a baby's arms that rise
to touch a father's face.

Find me a hole that only I can fill,
and capture the sky
in a star-fishing net.
It's my only limit, you know?

When I stand my full height,
unashamed to be strong,
don't top me off like other trees
that rose too high above the rest.

Carry me to a place I can stand
without slouching for fear of being tall,
where in eager expectation,

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