Palo Alto trees tend to live their lives
Aware of the grounds and ways to the skies
Dreaming of nights shimmering with their drives
Awaking to the sounds of life and cries
Of their leaves whispering, where is the Sun
Where is the light that nourishes inside
Why is there anything instead of none
Do we have a choice except to abide
Many trees, young and striving to be free
Are moved in boxes to become gardens
To aesthetically please and agree
To be transplanted like saving organs
They gradually understand their plight
To be bereft of both free will and flight
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Dedicated to Fanny Obadia
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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