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.