Are the silent leaves
Offended
When your serrated sole
Bruises through
Their fragile, fading skeleton selves
Without a thought?
Eyes turned skyward to the blue
Meditating on the voice of the blustering wind
Dwelling on the boisterous river's loud lament
In a forest so full
Every space you take
Takes space
You plough your desire path
Listening to nature
Taking it all in
Proud your feet are dry
Vexed, later, perhaps
At the mess of crushed leaves on your filthy boots
About the Creator
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