The trees they tell their stories
only if you know how to listen.
Close your eyes and feel as you
run your fingers along their withered bark.
Each wrinkle etched with musings of a weary traveler.
Of the exaggerated victories of an amateur warrior.
Of the sweet nothings of a resilient lover failing to impress
the village belle.
Feel the whispers from the rustling leaves,
as they sing their last song,
before they make way for another dwelling.
Like a fading opera singer
ending her act with a grand finale
to a standing ovation as the curtains fall.