Wimpy tree

The withered tree
Up on the hill is waiting for the sun.
She reaches out, and grasps a cloud
To keep her all warm

Leafless branches, cold dry bark
She stands tall and proud.
Waiting for winter end
And the long full spring sun.

Reaching out her small brown branch, and popping that small cloud.
Giving way, that cloud that day,
Swollen droplets fall
Washing away that short winter day

Proud to be, a small withered tree,
She watches the cold melt.
As spring soon starts to fling
She knew it was from her doing.

Blooming blossoms, big thick leaves,
She has now grown so tall.
Standing in that breeze, and proud to be
That once small wimpy tree.