Please don’t throw your man-made glass on her feet.

No wonder the lightning may kill a being.

You strike at her; she’ll strike back, different seeds, different bark.

The only thing that stays the same is now.

Spring is a women’s season, she produces the flowers and trees,

Babies and kittens.

People from the wilderness have more power than those who depend on plastic or ceramic to take urine.

Green ferns, wild waters.

Orange signs that mark the unmarked beauty.

Now I’m here in town looking at this tree.

So sad, fed by cigarette buts, its crying faces.

Going down, down- I hear the sirens.

-TerraSky