Trees Talking
Whisper, whisper goes the wind,
Ruffling though my leaves.
I will not let him blow me down,
I’ll proudly bend with the breeze!
Drip, drip, goes the rain,
As it falls right through my branches!
I quietly let it slide right down my trunk,
And run into the ditches.
Copyright © Betty Harp Butler | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment