A Tree: What You Want and What You Get

I once was small, and didn't add up to all that much of anything.
I didn't grow up as fast as I was kind of hoping.
I dreamed of touching the sky.
I wanted to feel the clouds swoosh by.
I wanted to grow big and strong and stand tall.
I needed to be better than those who call
themselves kings and beauty queens.
I had to do more than shade the ground. I wanted tired swings.
I wanted a heart carved into my chest.
I wanted love birds, in my branches, to nest.
I wanted kids to hang upside down from my branches.
I craved for them to sit in my shade and eat peanut butter sandwiches,
but things didn't turn out that way.
They never do, but let me tell you that this one day
among all of my hoping and wishing
there was an older man, and he was hunting and fishing.
He looked at me and "Tree," he said,
"You'd be good for firewood,
but my litttle girl is in need of a doll house instead."
And I let him cut me down and chisel at my bark
and for a while I was in a room that was all dark.
And soon after that I was revealed to a six-year-old.
I"d been made into a dream house with furniture and I was painted gold,
purple, green and blue. I was dolls that sat on beds.
I was everything that little girl wanted,
and to this day I've never had a tire swing,
but the crayon marks from the little girl have so much more meaning
than standing tall and being beautiful
because even with all that I lost, I am now full.