Maybe The Trees

Maybe the trees have lost their eyes And the wind its wicked wisdom The sand sifts through the glass Unnoticed The rivers cry in the dark phase Of an old moon Hear me, O Sun Give life to the branch Soil to the root Fast water, graceful rain A rising tide to wash away Sorrow We must emerge Together The upheaval of a great mountain Through stratified rock A peak of glistening snow To claim the heavens as our Own. ~ Laurence Overmire (Previously published in Autumn Leaves, July 2003; World Poet's Society, July 2006)