There's a tree in modern-day
That grows its upside down
It flourishes unnoticed
Not even a frown
It's all roots and rotting dirt
An ugly shade of brown

The rainstorms never touch it
Yet it always seems to grow
Where the low shrub is headed
No one seems to know
It's a metaphor for wrongness
For hate, and greed, and woe



                      Deep under the soil
There are blossoms and green leaves
Yes, they are now unseen
But no one seems to grieve
They are pressed into the dirt
And dirt They will receive

But those leaves and blossoms
To the bright gold branches cling
They are kindness, goodness
Still they softly sing
They don't mind unfairness
No protest do they bring
For they are well-nourished

By a pure underground SPRING


SoulSurvivor
(C)1/28/2017