I stood as a two hundred year old tree trunk,
my roots firm and deep.
the Sun bled through the cracks in the leaves,
dying my skin.
my tender arms could not bear repentance.
smug and resilient,
I started screaming,
"green, my love, you won't shape me!"
my roots firm and deep.
the Sun bled through the cracks in the leaves,
dying my skin.
my tender arms could not bear repentance.
smug and resilient,
I started screaming,
"green, my love, you won't shape me!"