Slow stretching in branches tell me of love
Unknown to many in these times with men.
They do not wish to understand the leaves
And how they shiver with the Mourning Dove.
Speaking in Wind-tongue, a simple echo
That is carried too far to fall short of
Reaching another who listens closely.
Hardened skin made to last for long years of
Living protects thoughts allowing time when
Trees and men can live together in eves
Of peace as they both grow as hand in glove.
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