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Poem: The Trees 

In my yard.
They are walking trees.
On most days
they walk from the potted
shrubs to the mailbox.
And that is all.
Lazy trees.

I asked the trees.
“Trees?
Will you walk with me to the store?
I’d feel so much safer if
I was not alone.”
They walked with me.

The next day.
“Trees? Will you stand in front
of my windows so
no one can see inside.
See what I do in there?”

They did not move.
They did not move at all.

Trees do not walk. Because
if trees could walk
I would teach them to run.
Put them to work.
Make them do things.

In exchange I would let them live
in my dirt.

I have good dirt.

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