Between trips, she tires
of the asking trees.
Exhausted by the ones without
brilliantly hued questions, the ones
that taunt with a humming
constant in the wind—home is
not the answer
every time, everywhere.
Between trips, she tires
of the asking trees.
Exhausted by the ones without
brilliantly hued questions, the ones
that taunt with a humming
constant in the wind—home is
not the answer
every time, everywhere.
life is a journey, we keep moving, never feel safe enough to rest in peace until we die…
beautiful poem.
love the image.
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