Mushrooms, and my friend the Tree
by iamerica
Golly gee, a tree!
So tall he stands, as from a dream.
I stroke his spine, but without a purr
He whistles back,
To me he lures.
Hands rest softly,
Knees bent weak,
I close my eyes to hear him speak:
"Child, baby, sell your soul.
It's me to whom your secrets told.
Sit down, be still, and feel me breathe.
Be sure you know me before you leave.
Alone forever, a tribe you'll lack,
I love you baby, so whistle back."
One single tear sent down my cheek.
My eyes are open, but hands still meek.
A slave myself, I'll never be free;
I belong to him, my friend, the tree.