There is a tree outside my window,With branches strong and wide.The tree is not inside my house,Because trees... grow outside.I look upon the branch's tipsI look among the leaves.What I see doth trouble me,It makes my heart weep... it grieves.Green casings are popping open,New pecans are bursting forth.Knowing not their dismal fateOr their scanty worth.One will fall onto the groundWhere it will decay, so smelly.One will find it's way intoA greedy rodent's belly.Yet another pecan will drop and bePicked up by a passerby,Only to be painfully shelledAnd cast into a pie!O, Tree of Pecans,Why do you bear your fruit?How do you copeAnd maintain your hopeWhen your offspring are crunched 'neath a boot?~*~Note: I wrote this silly poem during my brief stay in Alabama. The accompanying picture is cartoonishly accurate of what I really saw right outside my window on the night this was written. A huge old Pecan tree, reaching out to greet me. When my window was open I could touch the branches. We lived on the second floor of an old apartment building that was surrounded by big beautiful old trees. I will never forget Mobile, Alabama. It was like a dream. I could write all day about it...