The Mime of the Trees

Tree in the WindWhen the night gets lighter,

And day does overtime,

The trees begin to primp and preen

And bend their boughs to mime

The story of the winter,

Of challenges they met.

Forgive the trees their boastful ways!

You owe them all a debt.

 

The trees are nature’s filter.

They clean the crowded ark.

Their struggle drawn on every leaf,

Proclaimed in twisted bark.

You fear that they’ll neglect you

As you neglect the soil,

But they will bind their suff’ring roots

To Earth’s immortal coil.

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