I stroll apon the suburban sidewalks
of my town hearing the trees whisper
in the freezing biting winter wind.
Do they sigh or shiver in this icy chill?
What do they whisper?
The groans of fatigue echo
heavy ocean swells into the black midnight sky.

Deep thoughts flow through these ancient giants;
thoughts of weather in spring,
epiphanies of baby birds chirping for mothers worm.
The soaring pine, massively ascending into the sky,
dreaming of a childhood passed away in its shade.
The Birch relentlessly taps the window,
the old eyes of the faded house,
trying to awaken the boy once more.