Bristle
I hear the palm trees bristle
do they not like the breeze
could they be angry that the sun
has hidden its appeal
Perhaps they share my thoughts
intending to appease
That I am not the only one
that they know how I feel
I watch them through my window
as if they wave to me
hypnotic in their soft advance
I just can’t turn away
Imploring as they bristle
to hear their winsome plea
to give the sun another chance
to grace a brand new day
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