Trees on the boulevard lined up with precision,
all the same, identical from either direction.
Season after season they grew providing shelter
for little animals so they would not swelter.
Cars would pass on the streets
windows closed to keep out the tweets.

But yet there is something deep within the tree,
a yearning of like to see.
Stretching limbs to touch
but not too much.
Leaves that shiver in the breeze
attracting pollen but without a sneeze.

Nurturing the seedlings
sending them out to be saplings,
only to be mowed down.
That's the moment the tree will frown.
They cry, "what is my worth
among all this turf?"

I imagine someday they may lift up their bark
loosen their roots and walk down the boulevard in the dark.
Marching in formation on the street,
finally the others they will meet.