The Tree Grows in Brooklyn

The book is called, they are the only ones who understand me. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room, we can hear them, but nedty just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things. Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. When i am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is i look at trees when there is nothing left to look at on the street.