Trees

Upon the howling wind,
They laugh.
And in the gentle breeze,
they cry.
The tales they tell,
century woven lays.
And their voices only whispers
carried by the wind.
Their constant sigh for heaven
and mourn the forsaken limbs.
They sleep upon the winter
To be born again in spring.
To us, these nearly forever beings.
To them, we’re here and gone
In a breath of wind.

Trees

Stormchild

White Bluff, United States

  • Artist
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nature trees

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