Circle Tree
I see a
small tree in the middle of a city sprawl.
Concrete
surround tries to hide delicate green leaves,
rusty iron
railings vie for rain to rust arm thick trunk. Support.
A finger up
to Man’s straight lines and dirty office blocks.
New green
leaves spring forth in Spring,
trying to
live in a seasonless place.
I sit under
thin sparse leaves wondering
if any more
trees will ever be here?
To end this
loneliness and make a pair,
be almost
human. Breed, family?
You just
need yourself, not more trees.
An island
of a single tree, here in the city.
One symbol
of my Pagan religion, of life.
Not to your
capitalist money grabbing ways,
mobiles,
filofax, fast car and more in your ineffective
short life.
Cut this
tree down, it will live on in mine and people’s memories.
“Look,
that’s where that tree was all on its own, I remember it now.”
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