Wooden Floors
Down in the willow tree grove where the blossoms grow
there lived a fancy-shmancy lawyer
When she cried, she cried tears of soil
and shaved away at what branches coiled
She climbed mount everest to look for a friend
but found the snow the same as the sand
She worked her way through the weeds
looking for sunlight, like everyone needs
The tears bled through the ground like glass
flooded and waiting for the storm to pass
She cried and she cried and she waterlogged her home
No more wooden floors for a place meant for stone
Down in the river there lived an employer
Charting a course to find a reputable name
When there was nothing there that she could find
That whole river, it was all but drained
The tears bled through the ground like glass
Flooded and waiting for the storm to pass
She cried and she cried, and she waterlogged her home
No more wooden floors for a place meant for stone
No more wooden floors for a place meant for stone
She read Molière and listened to Swift
and let her mind wander and drift
What do lawyers do when they retire?
Do they part ways with society and extinguish their fire?
But in the city, there were no trees
And isn’t that also what everyone needs?
Maybe the machine is truly broken
Maybe this is the true lucky token
The tears bled through the ground like glass
Flooded and waiting for the storm to pass
She cried and she cried, and she waterlogged her home
No more wooden floors for a place meant for stone
Down on the ground there lives a person
Laying there because she comes from the sky
But when she cries, she cries tears of soil
Reluctantly grateful that her plans were foiled
Copyright © Anne S | Year Posted 2026
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