Proud Lord

That lone tree, king of vegetation, in a bald sparse, spread of a plain, as if it lorded, the full and total lot, spread was green, but exposed, to sun rays, if heat became more, the green turned, greying rot, emanating, an unfriendly smell, as a traveller, I could tell, now I was tired, as I had no tires, but on barefoot, I was from far, sighting the proud lord, it was still flushed green, from lack of competition, and a lot of ground to feed, I scurried faster for shade, I was sure I will not be refused, But the lord had his ways, it had root sinews, swollen out of ground, everywhere, as if very proud, It made even sitting stable, under it so difficult, then it had its own clan, of flattering bufoons, mainly birds of prey, that shat and swooped down, on visitors, jerking branches in violence, and showering all that, which was not wanted, strangely while the lord, danced to the plain winds, underneath it was an uncouth wet, it smelled and made you sweat, Now that I was under it, I ran hard out of there, feeling that simple,unassuming and humble, plain ground was more fit.