Her skin is old and soft
Her face creased with salicin
She stands isolated on her bed, peering to the world
Her lone soul mates: the stars, whom watch her,
The millions of butterflies that kiss every strand of her hair.
And the casual visits of cries.
She sighs quietly to the soft, cold breeze
If only they knew how much of the world
She holds in her gentle, tender adoring arms
And her every root that touches our footprints
They rumor, “she’s just a tree”
And her spirit whimpers.
And her core sobs.
She’s the mother of our earth
Who guards our aches and yearns
Who catches our rivers of tears with her fragile vines
She weeps for our dreams that are neglected
She weeps for our love that has now vanished
She weeps for the change of compassion
She weeps for the nature and the world
And She weeps, Oh, She weeps.