When other people look at my favorite tree, they just see a tree.
But when I look up at it’s canopy, it’s a blanket, covering the sky.
When I climb it’s thick, strong, branches, it’s a place to play.
When I watch the squirrels scurry up and down it, it’s a home.
When I read, curled up in the crook of the branches, It’s magic.
When other people see my favorite oak, they just see a tree.
But when I look at it, I see a friend.