I feel myself a tree sometimes. A tree grown to maturity. The flowers that bloom on a tree such as I am have been coming and going in their season. Some fruit too, of the kind which grows on me. It isn't very sweet, I think, nor much use even after being processed. Yet, here I am, tree-like just as all other trees are. And these things cannot be denied. I am green, with branches wide, covered in foliage and those who come beneath will find its shade.
I do not have much need for tending, I think, for I have survived in arid land with little watering and no special care at all. I have this strange longing to be of use to others, even if it be the very wood I am made of. But I realize, that isn't for me to decide. People find me mostly unsuitable for any purpose to them, and just leave me be.
It doesn't matter I have been telling myself now. Because here I am, and every passing year, I age a little. When i am gone, the bands for each year I lived, would show up clearly. Just like in all other trees were you to cut through them. So, it is all fine - just this one message I would like to leave for you. If you don't like how I look, the texture of my leaves, or the occasional flowers which come, their form or their fragrance. Still, I ask you just leave me be.
Don't pick these flowers to smell them. I haven't any control over them, they will be as they are. They come without my asking, as buds among the leaves, then grow to a fuller bloom - which you don't like you said, and then I let them go as they're ready to fall. I am sorry their smell isn't one you like. I am truly sorry they fell so close to you, for I wasn't meaning to offend. It's just this is where I was planted, and meant to be.
So, now my friend, I wish you adieu.