Tuesday, September 23, 2014


On our land procured in toil
The trees we placed decades ago
In such chaotic patterns of concern
Will reach always to the sky
Make green arks for animals
Hold the soil tighter than I
Like infants they shall be
To rise and wane in seasons to come
Even if we do not live to see it
In the calculation of times intent
The trees will count the ages
And we shall be content