Trees painted red for the blood they cannot shed.
They die just the same, but do they feel pain?
Does the forest cry out as its members fall down?
Or was there no voice as they fell to the ground?
The trees do not speak but they still utter sound.
They creak and they moan, and they sway all around.
The wind rustles their leaves, the sound tickles our ears.
It leaves lasting impressions, some laughter, some tears.
No comments:
Post a Comment