Till The End Of April

If I write a poem every day
maybe one will find its way
into my heart and grow a tree
and being a plant
will keep sprouting leaves!
and shoots! and flowers and bees will come
and pollinate my tree and it'll grow so tall
so mighty
you won't see the top -
you won't see it at all.
It'll be so far up
it'll be stuck in my brain
like a wave
to a friend
I hadn't seen in days
or years
or a whole entire decade and waved
to them across the street cuz
I knew their face,
it was familiar to me,
my friend who's a tree,
they grew in my heart and got stuck in my brain
the painting of their face was
a poem I made
one day
out of many
from March until May
and I won't be stopping,
no how,
no way,
I water the tree
every night, every day because I want it to grow
to a beautiful height
so I can't see the top
but I'll know it by name -
I'm the writer, you see,
so I kiss my little tree and mold till it grows and runs away on me
takes flight on its own,
and blossoms with green.