Sprouted, growing, like a tree in her prime.

One with this earth.

Hand in the dirt.

Fingers rooted, absorbing fertility,

Becoming the support that keeps sauntering people above.

But she sank,

She knows the dirt oh too well.

She claims its cancer of the soul.

A weeping willow sprouted from her seed.

Doves only rest on oak trees.

The crow will sing his lullaby,

Cacophony of the soul,

Taking branches as he hums his unforgiving tune

Building a home, a condemning sense of security.

Stripped, still solid, blowing in the wind.

She is alive,

Not growing.

Riding the sunshine, absorbing mellow energy

Waking up, rooted in the same place until someone-

Anyone takes interest to her view.

So they may unmask her hidden beauty,

Basking in her glory, listening to her story

As her branches sing “Because I love you” in the wind.

And they stay, swaying in her majestic glory

Absorbing her earth-shaking story

Broken down, beaten-

She stays vulnerable to the mass beside her

No words spoken

The gaze never broken

Opal eyes of understanding speak the words of the soul

"Because I love you."