humans: two

ehh..... i mean its ok-- its around 12 at night (or morning) now so it might be horrible i dont know, its in a fit of random creative vibes.

such a lie would make me think

you did not care

to sit under my boughs

and feel my leaves fall and swirl

round your feet;

did not care to sit under the stars

I did support with my fingers.

Such a stare would

make me shudder and

crack my bark, sharp and loud

oh, i would not dare.

such is your own,

and it makes my winter's wind

tail tuck, turn and stumble to the floor

it is nothing compared to the harsh

gaze-- you,

you've winded me.

my summer's wind reels in your presence

it drowns in its dew out of shock of your

heavy, weighting palm,

like water poured from a bucket.

and my spring and autumn

are simply no match:

they are still yet babes

and you would shuffle over them like mud

scraped off hands.

would you feel cleaner then?

if you did pluck me off the ground

in hurried fits of madness

and cruelty.

but i am not a flower:

i am a tree,

and you may not

pluck me.