#1959-Clouds
11/12/2022
Sometimes I wish,
Trees could speak.
Maybe they’d recount,
How in autumn it feels,
When their leaves,
Float away in the breeze.
Or stories of souls,
Who sat in their shade,
Passing by on their way.
But trees don’t talk.
Through rain and shine,
Unwavering they stand,
With no need to understand.
And so I imagine,
On this cold early morn.
It’s still dark,
No one is out,
As thoughts dance about,
In search of meaning,
When only silence exists.
