Spirits Blowing In the Breeze - A Poem

There's so much more than the color to our trees,

Than the branches of our trees

Than the texture of our trees

No, they hold so many memories.

Memories of old and memories of wise

Are recorded in the colors bright

Memories dark and memories sad

Memories gay and memories mad.

They hold many events over the years

Sounds of laughter, water from our tears.

They record history, they record life

Sometimes great, sometimes strife.

There's so much more than the brightness to our trees,

Than the bark of our trees,

Than the darkness of our trees,

No, they hold so many memories.

Memories of ancient times, stories and legends

That repeat in their environment over and over again.

Memories of shadows and of light

Memories of joy and memories of fright.

They hold so much more than we believe

But through out the years we let them bleed.

We show them hate and pain

As if they have nothing to gain...

Like they aren't alive, no not life at all

We cut them down, we let them fall.

But they hold our stories our memories,

And in my heart they are more than just trees

They are spirits blowing in the breeze.