I’m up here hanging
at the end of my rope.
Just leave me; twisting,
turning while Rome is burning.
I thought branching out
would be quite fulfilling,
deeply rooted on
this limb seemed so thrilling.
But, do not dissuade me,
harangue or harass me,
I won’t hear a word; you’re
barking up the wrong tree.


Written for WE WRITE POEMS – Prompt #94: Ode To a Tree