A tree that is unbending is easily broken,
A person that is unchanging easily shaken.
He’ll fall with time
And never splinter.
He’s not a tree people can easily climb,
And I’ve made it to the top.
I hold on tight, falling to the ground packs a punch.
He sways with the wind,
His leaves change color,
Unlike the mighty Douglas fir.
During a storm, that fir will snap,
And my aspen will bend to the ground.
If I tumble, will my aspen bend to catch me?
After all,
I’m the only one he’s let see
How his branches feel—
Flexible, soft, and unreal,
But his tears are true—
He weeps like the willow tree
I say to him, “I’m here for you,”
But he’s never here for me.

If I tumble, will my aspen bend to catch me?