Budding Trees

Cottonwood bliss

I came to say

the wicked in their ways

fall away

as fickle, fragile, dry,

brittle

much can be said

as little

gone awry

you and I

the dry earth crackles and creaks

it is my thirst

my survival seeks

I see you

the reflection in my leaves

leave me dry

or water me high

there

Is

no

in between

by Sandi – O’vehlu

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