I tell all my secrets to wizened old trees,
They capture them, whispering, past leaves on the breeze.
My secrets seep slowly through gnarled, crusty bark,
Creep under their roots where it’s damp, cool & dark.
Trees will not share trust, though they’ll rustle & quiver,
On cold winter days boughs will rattle & shiver.
In the warmth of fine Summer my secrets lie low, from the light drops of rainfall & hot, sunny glow.
When Autumn comes calling, my secrets will know, they’ve blossomed, its time, for the trees to let go! 16th February 2019 - 9 hours ago