Poetry: The Tree

The Tree

With each tree that dies
an age passes by
tip-toeing past unnoticed
with barely a sound
of weeping unbound
caressing the winds of the storm

This entry was posted by Pamela Rose on 9 Oct at 11:04 pm, and is filed under Literature, The Publishing House. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.