when the persistent winds
persuade them to
and when the heat has
drank its fill of any
remaining drops of life
and when the wind hurls
insults through July
into August
they only lazily toss
about like tails
of napping cats
in the afternoon
yet when the world
turns too fast in turning
seasons when cold
and heat are restless lovers
beneath the sheets
they are the ladies losing
lace handkerchiefs in
all the fashionable colors
and when the cold
penetrates the soil to
tell the worms it's time
to sleep and dream
they haven't a care
to move at all
but when the tempest
roars through the
evening skies in thundering
splendor and shock
they humbly bow low
to the bellow of the breeze
this the movement of trees
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