The trees

Oh, the trees; how tall they grow

in search for the will of soul

and as they branch out this way/that

love becomes quite useless, flat.

And in that line of love gone bad

one can see how mournful, sad

they stand amidst the chores of life

and watch the pass of gifted time.

Yet still they grow good flowers, fruit,

and nest the birds if it will suit

the movement of all spirits free

that live on their periphery.

The trees are looking up, up, up

yet still there’s all that other “stuff”

that distracts and causes love to slide

far off, far off, towards the side.

I wished them joy and freedom too

as I released a branch or two

because it sometimes seems to me

less is more when love must be.

And so of love be sure to know

it is indeed the will of soul

lest like those most unruly trees

we take up space quite uselessly.