Trees Like Me.

If a tree could be me, and I the tree, it would be fun to feel wet droplets race, after rain, down my body, trickle freely through deep clefts between my hairy toes, lace my roots with earthy mineral water, which then, sucked up through cells in roughened trunk for distribution everywhere, is wisely brought into my branchy tops, and greedy drunk by all my green-veined leaves, like filtered wine. Distilled from deep beneath the ground, ambrosial, nectared, sun-powered juice, oozing life, refined by upward climb, which, assisted by osmosis, finds its way into my cells, energises all of me, helps me breathe out oxygen which humans need for life, and gives me use. Yet trees like me are dying through pollution. What happens then, when all the trees are gone? Life on earth will become a travesty. A parody, which will be worthless. The trees and I agree, may that never be.