RedGage

The trees, not us,

Are destined to reveal

The true glory of life.

In late fall, in empty fields,

Copper-red sunsets and amber dawns

Whisper stories to them.

There are Caesars among oaks,

And Jesuses among palm trees.

Perhaps their souls send silent call to each other.

The underground currents

Sharpen diamonds and crush marble.

They sing… and cry when an elm breaks.

If only could I find a land

Where I could not cry nor sing

But only silently rise to the sky…