we are lungs and history

 

Under the maple trees, we fall

Soft as pinecones, sun-creased skin

We worry not where we land and rust

We embrace the autumn season

We are kin with elm, oak, pine, spruce

And so many more than we can count

We worry not where we fit & thrive

With wildflowers at our feet

When sky is blue, we breathe as one

At night, we dream of stars, all bright

We worry not about darkness

And bow to the tides of the moon 

We grow older than elephants

With wrinkles, warts & wounds

We revel our fruits & seed pods

Instead of poison, spikes and strifes

We are your lungs and history

But we can also be barren land

When forgetting about us, a voice calls

For war, spilling oil, blood and gore

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Writing from a Collective Point of View, Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.

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