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


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