I am but a tree, warm and blossoming.

Once lost stood a green flower.

In years past the tree faded.

wilted medows.

Over milked by the air and left ungifted and filthy by society.

a green cherry long gone.

it stood lonely among no other tree's.

The flower, the green, flower. but at exodus to reality. 

Dull drab and lifless among the vast grayness.

is the future still full, Miester of the great?