Original Poems · Recorded Performances

Trees

Trees, those friends and lovers, stand
  apart, and maybe branches touch;
  they grow each on their own, and do
  not think of others overmuch,

I wish for them good health, and sun,
  and rain, and where not rain, some dew;
  the same way that I wish for all
  that grow — like other plants,

  and you

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