Dead trees,
White snow,
Green pines,
And a long way to go.

Within my fallen body,
Roots will thrive.

And in them, I am alive.

As old as my arms reach,
They will bare the fruit of all that has come before me.

I shall feed to the next generation of disciples,
The sugars that are born from this forgotten language.

And there we will all rise,
as we flow back down the river line.

By Arcassin B

Your melanin keeps me young and mines stimulate you.

Even though it's not the basis of our relationship,
Still need the sticky residue,
With you , explore the lows and the highs,
Want you to show me how you cry,
Wanna feel heaven just when we combine,

I want the honey , the birds , the bees , the grass,
The trees , chocolate cookies , I need them in my life,
I want ya' smile , ya' smell , ya'head , ya' toes,
You love it and it shows,
Maybe I want you as a wife.
🐝
full link below<<<< copypaste
🥶

Rain, the thunderstorm,

and the complete surrender --


of the trees: awesome!

In times long past, the builder made
a forest temple in the shade
of tall oaks, maples, locusts fair,
each carved stone an unspoken prayer.

There amongst the autumn whispertrees,
I open the old temple gate with ease
and hear the trees sing psalms of solace,
to partake in this painted place’s promise.

To tarry here with trees well dressed
is where I my newfound faith confess,
communing with colors in tailored hues
and with the sacred scent of life imbued.

The trees in winter:

no pigeons, no bullfinches --


the nests breaking down.

Round little Mulberry leaves. Park green, mean, and shining like a sparrow’s beady eyes. Smooth edges and veiny leaves shifting under a summer gust. Gently tucked behind a blinding white PVC fence in its little terraced jungle world.