04-13-2014, 09:05 PM
New growth.
One day, in a few hundred years
I will say to the wind,
“Go round me”.
I will show her my wooden face,
wrinkled and scowling,
I will not bow down.
I‘ve seen enough of her disrespect,
how she rakes through the leaves
of my elders, leaving them shaken,
stressed by the misty weight of her kiss.
She thinks she can shape me,
wind me around her finger.
My roots are iron hard boats,
my limbs can support whole nations.
I will stand my ground.
My kind are crowned as kings;
with more renown that her moaning,
let her sound off.
One day, in a few hundred years
I will say to the wind,
“Go round me”.
I will show her my wooden face,
wrinkled and scowling,
I will not bow down.
I‘ve seen enough of her disrespect,
how she rakes through the leaves
of my elders, leaving them shaken,
stressed by the misty weight of her kiss.
She thinks she can shape me,
wind me around her finger.
My roots are iron hard boats,
my limbs can support whole nations.
I will stand my ground.
My kind are crowned as kings;
with more renown that her moaning,
let her sound off.