You and I

You and I Were once two trees– Two budding saplings Placed too close To grow together An Upstate transplant, My midwestern limbs, Opened wide to hold you, Casting too much shade On your bright canopy Your restless, nascent roots Still longed to wind and stretch Beyond my sturdy trunk, And deeply drink From cooler earth And so we said goodbye, Shedding our early leaves, As I was suddenly uprooted, And carried west To my native range Countless signals fired and died From our maturing foliage, As we battled blizzards, bugs, and blights Growing taller and stronger With each passing year But as the seasons came and went, And we both grew apart, We kept the warmth Of a sun once shared Etched forever in our bark Until one day we were tall enough To see each other from miles away, And felt the pull of an old apricity, Willing our boughs to reunite, And share the forest together.