* Creadit is due to my younger sister for inspiring this poem and helping me write it.*
Picky, Picky what a pitty
Pick a tree and climb it,
Pick the one with yellow leaves,
slowly falling over dew.
Slippery shoes, slippery braches,
from dew left a night ago,
falling faster dry and yellow,
to the moss below.
Braches bending, bending slow,
breaking as you know it,
Bring me home, to the yellow,
Protect me from my fears.
Fears of falling, falling fast
To the bottom of A tree,
facing fears, fears of falling,
till the death of me.