A Skylarking Poem about a Belligerent Tree — or We’re All Allowed a Misfire now and then

I like to flex my muscles,

says the tree,

waving its branches

militantly,

I’m coming at you,

wait and see!

You’re on, I say,

just back from gym,

in an adrenaline

driven whim.

I’m going out

on a limb.

I engage it

in an arm wrestle.

Something snaps,

sadly droops.

Round one to me,

I whoop.