Man might hear
Rustling of leaves
When it is the
Song of Trees
In summer man takes shade beneath her umbrella
In autumn his theft is hidden.
Then man journeys upon her colored palette
But she lays down her leaves as though she bleeds
Yet a gift to the ground as the colors once were
Gifts from the Sun of Righteousness.
Another season passed.
The trees stand stark and bare
An annual ascetic feat
As their branchs plays the winds, a hymn
The witness of mankind is heard in
The Song of Trees.
2012 Copyright © HeardWords America