Heartless Souls May Not Be Named

A poem I thought of in the late nights of December.


1. Heartless Souls May Not Be Named

Leaves of the autumn trees,

Their powerful colours, weeks of growth.

Of deep reds and glowing yellows,

Take only seconds to drift to the ground. 


The roots of these trees,

Roots entwined, the beginnings of a maze

Held together in the depths of the Earth,

Take minutes to drill into the circles of years.


The trees themselves;

The very detail of their carved wood,

Standing boldly, home to thousands,

Take many years to build back up again.

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