Ts'in Tsin
The venous trees, they shout and mingle
And dance once more with the pale eve
Yawn high above the fickle roots
Allowing only wind to disturb the leaves
“Oh Lord,” they cry in deep, rumble whispers
“Catch our children who fall to the ground,
“Let them not be just a subtle reflection
“Of their parents, soon apart of the clouds,”
Amidst dandruff bark and shuddering limbs
The trees, they still seek an exit
From the fate that’s foretold in the forested meetings
Of that cold hearted winter-born vixen
Yet mutter and spit and shake as they may
No mistress of the sun can flee
From the spiders who spin the blanket of frost
Who coat the once warm breeze
So deep into deadened shells they shrink
Like a silkworm poured in a cocoon
Until spring comes to knock against the forest
And the trees come crawl out of the wood