A 'Limb' And It's 'Leaves' Poem by James McLain

Smooth it's too,
but well weathered.
and manners, Many are seen,
green shoots all around it.
A limb sits in the middle of the tree.
Laying on beds of soft leaves,
I sweep up.
Lazy such one small limb,
just by the wind there above me.
Effortlessly, I've gathered
how and know, why it's polished.
They're, moved up and down
each day and night too caress it.
I think it's just friction
and come bye the morrow.
I'll ask my teacher, if this is not,
how it all works.