the big oak

Yesterday I climbed the big oak
behind the old red barn,
just high enough
where a robin is waiting with open wings.

But I’m restless—
more like a feather in the wind
that cannot fight the breeze,
instead of being sturdy
like this tree.

But I am a quiet loner
climbing farther away
from shattered hopes
and whispers of love.

And I feel sorry
for the robin
who still believes
I might stay.