Her

Alone, with blue, and sand, and me 

I sit beneath a queenly tree 

Her arms stretched out to greet the sun

While shielding me, the crispy one 

 

Meant for the tropics, my miracle tree 

With plump avocados, and a thick canopy 

My only friend, I watch her grow 

Some times I save her seeds to sew 

 

I lean against her sensitive trunk 

Thinking of all of the thoughts we have thunk 

She is funny and fruity, to my soul she does tend 

It will be her and me until the end 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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