A young birch tree looked into my window.
She had long greenish hair of leaves.
The brand new catkins shivered in the breeze
Like precious ornaments.
She smiled and waved her long drooping twings at me
As if whispering in a low crispy voice:
“Trees have souls.
Trees have voices.
Trees have wisdom,
Unknown and unimaginable.
If only you could listen
You would hear our songs and feel sorry
For how you treat us -
Silent citizens of the planet”.
Tree talk. Birch tree poem
© Copyright: Лена Смит 7, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124052305815
Свидетельство о публикации №124052305815
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