I wish plants could speak They’d tell me of horrid things they’d seen Above them and next to them Left and right They’d speak of the rain that came after drought And the joy they would have at that They’d tell me about the loss when a flower got picked and the fuss of it if anyone cared enough to get it fixed for a new plant in its place a new life replacing the old a decade of silver instead of gold With new existential questions (some are very bold) would the sky get angry then and start raining coal? for how dare a simple plant question the mighty clouds? and have a voice to speak and make sounds? while it is inferior, sickle, stuck in the same old grounds, as it’s quiet predecessors
I wish plants could speak they’d be full of wisdom I’d reckon They’d be melancholy they’d seldom speak and sometimes, Of hope a beacon
you’d think they might know the most of this earth as their roots are intertwined with it I’d say It unravels it’s secrets to them For it knows for sure That plants never speak.
wrote this without re reading it. Sorry if it’s *******