Tree Gripe
Trunks tower upward, majestically
Dyed shreds of paper blow as leaves swaying
Cascading sunlight peers arrestingly
Paper, human, has something it's saying
I am worth less than the fields below me
I can compete not with sturdy cotton
Pretense as valuable comodity
The layperson knows not what he's gotton
Taken unawares flattens hopefulness
Intelligence labors toward a stance
Delayed decisions might cause woefullness
This is real life of economic dance
Buyer beware to return the chalice
In so doing, pure justice in balance.
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