Trees Are People, Too
Trees are People, Too
They dance, my trees,
With the character of many dancers;
One’s branches arched, waving,
Toe shoes in stage flooring,
She dances with locks of leaves;
Another is a sentinel,
One arm straight out and straight up;
He stands like a Queen’s Guard;
Watches me while I shuffle my book;
Still another gnarled, bent as if with arthritis,
Blown by life’s winds into a grandmother;
Stiffly a trunk into the ground straight.
If you look closely, you’ll see her bun.
And there’s a little sapling girl,
New dress flutters untrimmed;
Her weak new neck looking down;
Bashful at the twisted hem.
And I enjoy such company,
All kind, all knowing I love their forms.
They whisper summer words to me.
Hallucinations? Bring them on!
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2016
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