A Tree Can't Sing
A tree can't sing;
They say mice go 'squeak'
And fish go 'sploosh'
But a tree is renowned for
Its taciturn trunk.
Its teeth of dead bark,
Bite together to block the tongue
From ever becoming a lingua.
Birds perch on its attempt to do so.
They sound their arie,
Or croak coarse cacophonies
To their fat chicks and partners.
A tree must simply cover it's face
In its willowy fringe
And wait for Autumn to take its leaf
And Winter to frost it's sap.
But it never quite happens
And a tree is caught in a new world
Blooming ferociously into being.
So he remakes his old, shed clothes
And hides from the
Scoffing serenades of an unphased nature.
I wish the tales of ten thousand and two trees to be heard
They may take their roots out of the mud yet.
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