You see me a bent shaking form that sways, unmoving and rigid.
My thoughts uncertain from the fog that clouds the day.
You cannot see my smile or my joy, my frown or my rage.
You cannot see it because of the silent features, a mask, now my face.
You see me and you stare. The reflection in your eyes paints the picture,
And you think that life sometimes is not fair.
I am not a landscape of autumn turned to fall, a tree that has no leaves;
Whose branches are broken, alone, no forest to be seen.
What you cannot see is what is inside of me,
A will that is evergreen.
I know that spring is coming, so for now I must stand tall.
I know the wind will bend me. I know my leaves will fall.
My will never broken, for winter will one day thaw.
What you could not see inside of me is a great and beautiful tree,
And all the trees around me, all the trees like me.
Standing together, a forest now you see.
That picture that you painted, that picture is not me.
I am Pat Younts, and I Move to Live.