We are trees,
Ever growing, ever reaching for the sun.
At night, the stars caress our weary eyelids,
and in the day, our hands reach out to touch the warmth.
The growing grass beneath us,
Touches our toes and makes us smile.
The soft, morning dew,
Touches our lips and hands,
Making us feel alive again.
We are always reminded,
That sometimes people need us to breathe...
But for no good reason,
People cut us down,
Chop us up,
And leave us be.
Sometimes we are used over again,
For something more useful than we were before,
But most times...
We were just cut down to be burnt to ashes,
And thrown away.
We are trees.
And always feeling.
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