a dashing troop of dancing trees
their branches breathe, whistling
as light gleams through so chrystalline
a scene pristine and seen by few
spinning within my fleeting view
as these trees do seem to move
the light reflects off evening dew
leaving hues of endless more
chasing shade with brilliant shores
the graceful course of tidal winds
blends all life and never ends.
(written on a bus returning from the frigid 2008 anti-war march in D.C.,
inspired by the way trees seem to spin when passing)
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