I am the tree

The leaves lavish green.
I split them at the seams,
killing all they ever
hoped to be.

In a way we are gods.
In a way, jitter bugs.
Tiny and huge
simultaneously.

My big stump
is icky thump.
My feet are roots
My hands are branches.

I sing while he dances.
I bleed while he prances.
I am the tree.
He’s not quite as old as me.

*This poem is based off a threewordwednesday.com prompt. The three words are highlighted.