The tree branch reaches, toward the light:
While I; I'm lost, inside your night.
The wind plays, toying with the birds:
While I; I'm tumbled, along your words.
The day goes marching toward the night:
While I; I'm crawling, within your sight.
If you were wind, and tree, and bird:
I'd have no use, for this tired world.
This is cleverly written. I loved the flow to this one.