When a tree is set on fire, burnt leaves, burnt trees become clouds of grey smoke. The happy trees disappear.
Big gun will want fire,
Enemies and friends-
will cut its branches,
Burn down its leaves-
to smoke up the air.
The young tree will tire-
when its trunk is cut.
The tree will grow another branch-
when its trunk remains intact.
And its roots will stretch higher.
Foreman needs and wants more-
from its fruits,
The tree will give spines instead-
And a spiky bitter gourd,
Its spirit will be freer and higher.
Nasty burns, the scars endure,
The cuts that tasted the light-
feel no pain or gain.
On its ashy soil will rise and retire.
__copyright©️ by D.W.Kadete
Thank you for reading!