Pulling the Short Half

In class today, we focused on the specific unit of a 'line' and how each line is as equally important as any other. We were told simply to write a poem about a tree in which we focused on making each line a seperate, distinct unit, to describe the tree in a different way. We were also told to make it one sentence. So.

Wish bone dual branches jut up from a trunk
bowled and rugged 'round the split with fat knots,
leading up to selves that are the same but different
for each sprouts leaves sunset gold and spring green
from tiny delicate twig-branches thining as they split
like veins narrowing down to a single drop of fall colored blood,
and each are dressed in richly dark fabrics of rough bark
and they both fill the air with the heady smell of growing things
and both cover the ground in dead leaves that crunch underfoot,
but one rises thicker, fuller, stronger than the other, dwarfing its twin,
casting better shade, dappling the ground in more shadow,
rustling all the louder from the keening wind...
and greedily stealing more of the sunlight.

(That's where it ended in class, but I was kind of considering adding something about how someone who wanted to climb the tree would choose the thinner of the two branches, as it would be a good deal easier to climb than its fat twin, but I'm not entirely sure if I want to add people into it, or just leave it as a simple description.)