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    dots Submission Name: Deepest Greendots

    Author: strokes
    ASL Info:    20/m/ny
    Elite Ratio:    4.25 - 20/26/26
    Words: 369
    Class/Type: Poetry/
    Total Views: 788
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2321

       please enjoy and just comment what this makes you feel what you think it means whether or not you agree with it.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsDeepest Greendots

    I wonder what the pines say,
    to the young and growing leaves of spring.
    Do they speak of their ancestors
    and their beauty as they aged.

    I hope the cold hasn't made them mean
    and their breath isn't full of sour venom when they breathe.
    I hope they tell the leaves to spread out wide
    and grow the deepest green.

    For the pines have seen so many things
    and this has made them wise.

    I hope they tell the leaves of all that's good and right.

    The summer months are the golden years for leaves.
    Its intriguing to wonder how they behave.
    I wonder if they stay up late into the night
    speaking of the things men seem so sure of.
    Do they whisper in the wind
    so glad to be alive;
    regardless of the branch they've been born of.
    Do they glory in the rain
    and welcome in the sun.
    I wonder if pines grow jealous
    being on the side to all this growing
    all this coming and this going.
    All the life leaves are living
    with no hesitant or waiting.

    Do the pines grow envious of the exuberance and the chatter
    as the leaves change color and grow old together?
    Is there a great camaraderie in entering all the unknown that awaits.

    I wonder are the brightest reds the wisest leaves to be,
    or should the goldenrod be what I seek?
    I hear the oranges sing,
    sing sweet songs along the breeze;
    a great ceremony it becomes.
    As the leaves full of life, full of color,
    all fall down to rest together.
    Neither any greater nor any less.
    For whats to be feared of death,
    when having lived complete.
    The fear is being green on and on until forever.

    The light is scarce
    and the pines huddle close
    they speak of things they've seen,
    of the things the dead leaves done.
    And they organize the stories
    to rejoice the glory
    for the coming buds.
    And I wonder what those pines will say
    to the young and growing leaves of spring.
    Will they tell the leaves to spread out wide,
    and grow the deepest green?

    Submitted on 2009-05-04 10:45:22     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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