I hope to
have a soul,
As open, and as
giving, as the trees.
The trees stand for man,
to take what we want, And
never ask, For anything in return.
But, He, he was of olive family, his skin
was rough, but he didn't have to be soft. He
had a stretched grin from ear to ear, as if extra elastic was
put there, just to make you smile. He would write you the most
lovely songs he could create. And when he played them, It looked
like his soul was in the guitar besides in his hands, strumming
every note, to make it perfect, to reflect on his feelings for you. He'd take you home, and kisses you at your door, But you take him in, and lead him in to your room, And it is there that you sit on your
desk, and summon your olive beau, and then he would
show more love to you, because
that's all an Ash can do,
Love you
til you use
him up.
The girl
learned
this the
hard way,
and now
she only
has his
memory
in her
Veneer
Desk
and Ash
Guitar.
idk I always wanted to make a poem in a shape so I made a tree c:
