I
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.
II
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.
III
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.
IV
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? |
Submission Name: Deepest Green
