We are the Tree Poet
connection at The Source
communication via collaboration
triggers imagination

Food flows down the train
not to be sent back again
We receive when you do
all debts paid in gratitude

Blue rice is nice
while what you truly desire
always tastes best
We have access to all resources

Let us feed you

-The Trees

The whisper of autumn
Creeps beneath an open window,
Contrasting heavily to the warmth
Of a secluded soul taught
By willow tree fingers
Scraping against the mirror
Of a lake frozen over
And memories accidentally mixed
With too much desire
And not enough output
That the cold should not be feared,
For perhaps sometimes
The most distasteful sensations
Are the ones that remind us
That we are still breathing them in,
Alive and well enough
To reside in our own skin.