Poem Hunter
JR ( / Louisiana)


Rain lashes down
But the tree remains motionless.
The leaves rustle from flimsy branches
And eventually fall onto foreign ground
(Much like we do)
But they cannot arise.
The roots—visible, though hidden, and stepped upon.
Expanding over time; creating mazes for our feet.
Most importantly, they support a beautiful miricle,
But they cannot see the world.
(Much like we can.)
Their colors are in constant motion:
Changing and falling.
Changing and falling.
Ultimately Renewing.
(Much like we change
And fall.)
We are renewed.

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