Thick as a vat this tree trunk stands
And though we cannot see, its root dig
firm into the ground
Branches stretch out to the sky
The trunk snagged in between;

I’ve never touched the tip
Had only come to the very bottom and looked up
And only saw the bottom of the crown ––
a few branches that converge to one––
And nothing more;

So high up this tree goes that even
while the other oaks cannot reach higher
It still stands, unfazed from the rain’s patter and pour,
It stands;

It’s the type of the tree where you’d expect
A tree tower at the very tip.
Perhaps melded with the sky already,
An eagle perched at the very top;

I was born a dirty old man
A fact that remains ever-unchangeable,
Like invisible strings tugging me down
As I hopelessly flail outwards;

But had I be born a crescent-winged bird
I’d beat my wings and flit up and up
Leaving those mortals behind
At the bottom, where they lay.

Ellis Yang is a seventh-grader attending Bullis Charter School in Los Altos, California. He greatly enjoys reading and writing poetry. He submit this poem as his English teacher (Ms. Dallas Woodburn) encouraged me to do.