Their branches hung over the river,
and a child could lean against their trunks to dream
instead of standing on a concrete edge,
when there were trees.
Their colors lined residential streets,
softening the edges of civilization.
A child looking at them raised his gaze to the skies,
when there were trees.
Their leaves shaded the siesta of summer afternoon
and when fallen, laid a blanket over burrowing bees, warming them till spring,
when there were trees.
This world had enough wonder to keep us alive,
to survive wars and plagues and small-town gossip,
when there were trees.
driftwood 