Beautiful

Sitting upon the branch of dawn, I see you passing by. My dew falls off my tender leaves, hitting the ground below. From the seed you planted in the ground that sprung life into this green tree. Since the dawn of the day and till the dusk of night I wait your gentle hand, to free me from this wretched place, trapped by branch and root, my one life line. Will you come and pick me, no you pass me by again. Is today the day you come?  Come and pick no you pass me by, picked another apple but not mine. Do you even spare a passing glance at me? Do you not see that I am beautiful! My green skin my heavy leaves, do you not see that I am beautiful? Will today be the day that you pick me, will that day ever come?