Celebration of Trees

We need to celebrate the trees again
The way we did when we were young,
When we would hide and climb and swing up in
Them, bellowing with every lung,
This tree is ours, drenched in adrenaline.

We dreamed of building tree houses that stood
As testaments to our sharp wit,
Where girls were not allowed – though soon we would
Desire the opposite, admit
Instead the girls into our dark, deep wood

Where we were dreaming of bare bodies, breasts
And bottoms, what we’d do with each
Girl that we’d never bring or get undressed
No matter how much we’d beseech
Them to give in to our lustful requests

Until we were much older still and much
Too old for trees, tree houses, play
Becoming serious. We’d leave the touch
Of innocence behind that day
Just like, now mended, an old wooden crutch.

These were the trees we hid among, the green
Of leaves and wind-danced shadows, bloom
Of dogwood, redbuds purple-pink to bean
In Autumn, seeds spread in the womb
Where we once danced in innocence, unseen.