Poetry

The Cry of the Trees

One old tree,

in the middle of the woods,

looked down upon the little trees,

and warned them to do good,

to gaze at every shining star,

and don't take life for granted,

for it was out of faith and luck,

that their seeds were planted,

to be so tall and strong,

but never to brag,

lest your roots be upturned,

and your branches may sag,

to live life to its fullest,

while it's in your grasp,

for a day will come soon,

where you'll lose your clasp,

the woodsman will come,

and he'll chop you away,

and you'll be a mere stump for the rest of your days,

cold in the ground,

roots barely alive,

and that,

little trees,

is why you must be kind.