The heart of a tree creaks when the breeze comes in a little too fast.
Perhaps it cried as the breeze reminds it that it too will die
long, tall, and proud as its life might be.
Perhaps it is a battle cry that echoes through sap and solid wood
the rage of stability confronted with the changing wild win.
Maybe, but when I hear the evergreens sigh
as the wind pulls their branches back and forth
I hear a giant, remembering the first time
the wind pulled at his roots.
I hear his heart break and fill
As mine does,
For I like him,