Pretending Trees Poem by Stan Petrovich

The trees take pretend trips
When we are not there
To cut them down or burn them up.
They imagine rising into the air
On moonlit romps without gravity's grip,
And mate like snakes, entwined,
Going as high as stars,
Looking down upon cities
And their captive kind,
Crying out for us to let them go,
To let them entwine without the cars,
The noise or the neon glow.

But their desire is doomed
Because what they get is pruned.