If I had a voice I would tell you tales
Of cities that rose and fell
If I could talk I would tell you stories
Of my brothers and sisters that were felled
If I could cry out aloud I should share
About the children that climbed me
And the ones that cried against my trunk
If I could shout I would yell aloud
At the birds in the sky that come to visit my leafy boughs
If you knew my stories that I gathered through the years
That number almost as many as my leaves
I could tell you of the sun and how its shadow speaks
And all the stories the moon gave to my by the stream
I cannot walk upon legs I simply stand and grow instead
For my branches are strong and my trunk is long

But if I were not a tree I would wish to be
Someone that had a dream to set them free

Poor girl.
In love with Poet.

Poet and man; angry at times;
Firing insults you can't

Possibly
Counter.

Beating you black and blue
With flowers
And feathers.

Poor girl.
Loved by Poet.

Loved and held closest;
First to fall victim

To every sudden movement
In matters of hearts
And hands.

Woman you are blessed
within you rests
Futures hope

We have a sister
us brothers
our shared
Loved
Loving
Sisters.