Tree Bark

Rough and tough, And not even remotely pleasant. Broken and torn, And not beautiful to the eye.

So why? Why do all these crearures like it? I don't see it's beauty, So how could they?

All cats seem to always purr, When it kindly caresses them. Some humans even trace their fingers, Along this ugly exterior. Not discusted or repulsed, But instead courious and amazed.

That tre bark has gone through hell. It isn't young, nor is it smooth. But as it sees all the kind hearts, It can't help but smile.

A little smither of hope, Returning to it's worn roots. And that old tree bark, Has found a reason to be for.