#17 Tree

Me.
Pick me.
Please, pick me.
All around the voices cry.
We hear them, my sister and I.
Me.
This one?
We touch it.
No. Not that one.
We move on. We don't see.
They are disappointed, left behind.
But we don't come back. We don't know.
Me.
We search.
How they bristle.
We shut our ears. Look.
We can't hear them, but we see.
See here. This one. This is the one.
Is it? It is a pancake. But now it says me.
Me.
We hear it.
We see. Yes, we see.
We see that it is a pancake.
Stifled by others, it will unfold.
It does not need to always be a pancake.
It can change in the warmth. We will help it.
Me.
Tree.
Yes, you.
We hear you.
You are an umbrella.