We must wait for the wind to render us
Articulate, by stirring leafy tongues
Only this rustling lets us discuss
Our fate; what a luxury are your lungs!
We understand patience so perfectly
That your haste makes us laugh or weep by turns
You move and speak and think so frantically
That lit, the wick of your life quickly burns
The tribunal of trees, methodical
Takes three long seasons to consensus reach
We know irony can be magical
And so, decide to let the fire teach
Us to wear its hues, bright, bold, dangerous
Autumn steals them and donates them to us
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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