Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Outside my black rainy window upstairs
which is letting in cold night breeze
the poplars' applause sounds welcoming, gentle, and
makes me want to go sleep under the trees.
Tomorrow in the secret woods I will
pitch my tent,
act calm all day, when everyone sees,
only to steal away when night is falling
so that I can go sleep under the trees.
Oaks will stand stoically, as though I'm not there;
Hawthorns will reach for me, prickly but pleased;
Poplars break into applause once again
to see me come out to sleep under the trees.

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