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What a pleasure it would be
To be a lovely tall oak tree.
Reaching upwards, stretching down,
With leaves of green and trunk of brown.
And how I'd tower over town!
(I think I'd rarely ever frown.)
And what a view for me to see!
And birds to keep me company!
And in the autumn, I could shake,
And hope someone my leaves would rake.
Oh, what a splendid mess I'd make!

But if I were a tree, I'd miss Dad and Mom,
And my really really good pal Tom.
And I could never run and play
Because my roots would make me stay.
(Not like I'd want to, anyway,
Since trees don't play, or so they say. . .)

Yes, life goes on, and I will see
That as much as I would like to be
A very handsome, tall oak tree,
I cannot. . .so I'll just be me--

Young, and strong, and quite happy.