LISTENING TO THE WOOD

Inside the trees are souls i think,
Souls that grow and change
Inside each leaf,so quiet
A memory of moments no one else has seen
But no man ever listens
Takes the time to think
That trees might see what happens
That in the way they rustle
Is a hint they want to speak.


They might have tried to whisper
In the palm of someones hand
their memory of the little girl
How there is a new hole inside her
And a new and smaller mouth
But no one believes or cares
That maybe
The tree would know
Something was very wrong
That it wants to talk about the sadness
It has seen so many nights
I think the world
Should walk deep into the woods
Listen very carefully,
To the voices in the leaves.
See the details,the tiny maps
of footsteps,and sometimes stains
They shouls see the leaves
Are shaped like tears
They should study the design in fallen needles
Maybe there are some markings on the ground
That will lead the world
To the one who made
THE HOLE

it is late and shug came tonight
i dont think margaret knew me at all

k.