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.
Join us when we open the pub doors at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
