By the sounds of Juniper Arms

I am five thousand years old and maybe that's why they think I can't die.
They throw rocks at me, break my branches, even when I'm just twigs I still hang on.
I appear in more than one shape, I am short and robust, or tall and determined, or even spread wide.
I am of Christmas or of the desert, I am from the garden or the field.
They bend me and break me but I'm still here. Still.
Maybe I just want to fall asleep forever.
Maybe in those arms where once I thought it was home.



"Trees do not live forever. They do age and eventually die. Some live much longer than others though, and it turns out that some of the longest living trees survive best in the more extreme climates and situations."