If I said I was from a house on Langhorn Street,
where the dew makes the arbor tree out front glitter in the morning,
would you know where I'm from?
Where I'm from,
there's an arbor tree that shivers alone in the worst winters,
while everyone else yells at each other in the warmth of the house.
Where I'm from,
there's an arbor tree with a friend named Spring.
She hugs the lonely bark,
while everyone else yells at each other behind the embrace blocking walls.
Where I'm from,
there's an arbor tree with a summertime Santa Claus,
who brings it's leaves back,
while everyone else yells at each other,
ignoring the sunny days Santa sent.
Where I'm from,
though,
wasn't always so bad.
For sometimes,
the arbor tree's leaf-browning autumns,
and fears of the coming chills,
were lightened by the raking of everyone else beside it.
For sometimes,
there were good winters,
when everyone else came out to play in the snow,
around the always there,
always adored,
and always recognized,
but always ignored,
arbor tree.
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CLUCK NO
PoetryA collection of both emotional and humorous poems about growing up and other frustrating parts of life that'll sound alright in your head, but just plain stupid out loud. !!!WARNING!!! This is not a compilation of chicken poems.
