The tree was glad

To have plentiful golden

Leaves hanging playfully.

 

To have

Deep roots in everything

For thousands of blades 

Of grass around. 

 

She told herself again 

And again

That it was Perfect,

That she was enough.

 

You’ve heard it before:

The rustling

Starts with prideful urgency

But always 

Ends with a whisper

Of self-doubt.