Generic

I, a Tree? 
On the lake’s surface, 
I appeared this morning. 
My eyes beheld my soul 
And explained 
That I was bound 
To the place where I laid my roots. 
I saw now. Realized now, 
That all my branches are split in two, 
And they snappishly spoke to me, 
When the wind asked me to follow. 
It must have been on behalf of my silent heart, 
Which desperately retaliates 
The monotone obligation of the seed. 
Thus I see them grabbing, 
Trying to hold on to the wind, 
But it deprived hastily through 
Despite the hundreds of arms and fingers. 
I know now that I must stay 
And powerlessly follow the seasons as they playfully pass by. 
Since this morning, I fear the fog around my roots, 
And tremble about my wrinkled bark.