A stalk, my cane. A tank, I’m bane. A child, untamed. . . until crash came.

Feather on the bird Bird in the egg Egg in the bird Bird in the nest Nest on the limb Limb on the

Where the rooster's crow does fly, A canvas vast and high, My eyes wander up with a sigh, At the endless azure pie.

Green slither I climb hither 'n thither over time. . Innumerable limbs spread to random whims up 'n through. . Wings sprout. Not to fly, But to air out. Stretch for sky.

I mimic a tree that no kid wants to munch. Dana Carvey liked to chop it a bunch.