Woods are lovely

Dark and deep

Wrote Robert Frost

A poet of fame.


Mist and rain feed

The trees on soil bed

Winds rock them

To sleep tight

With their hum.


Some reach out high

To the clouds

Murmuring the stories

Down on the ground.


While the thick vines

Hold the trees close

Like a girl crying;

Holding her mother.


Termites wear away

The old trunk

When branches are

Dancing with flowers.


Where will the birds nest?

Where will the fruits grow?

Bees buzzing aimless

Their hive is no more.


No fledgeling chirped

When the green roof fell

Down, flying to the ground.

Axe makes trees or not.


This poem was  included in the 5th annual ‘art and poems for peace’ project by The Art of Autism  a community from the USA to empower autistic people through art.

4 Replies to “Trees”

  1. Great Sherin as usual!
    We feel the pain of tree/nature in your lines-like the crying girl holding her mother.Fantastic.With your permission we will use these lines in our nature conservation activities.
    Best wishes Dr A
    Thank you

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