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.