Trees

did the forest wonder
at our frailties of soul
and doubts of heart
when she let us free
to walk and wander forth
from our arboreal hearth?
did she think
we would return
not with the gratitude
for one who bore us
but with the blade
and flame we were
able to fashion
upon the plains once upright?
When the wind comes
we hear her thoughts
as she shakes her head
in rustled resignation
and leaves become tears
the colour of blood.

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