With your haze of green buds,
Standing on tiptoe
Proud of yourself;
Peering over houses
Waving to your friends,
It's been years now
Since you've been seen.
It's not your fault
Men put in streets,
Erected barriers
Separating trees,
But now you can reach out
Stretch your limbs,
Wave to your comrades
On a whim.
You're a survivor, my friend,
Like all city trees,
You've learned to endure
Most anything.
Soon there'll be others—
Maybe this spring,
All patiently waiting
To escape quarantine.