Living

From my Window I can see
Living trees
Dew glistering on the leaves, dripping
Like dark blood welling from an ancient wound
Spilling life onto the damp ground below
Filling craes in the mud
Indentations, recording a past memory of a dag gone by
The energy printed on the record of time
The trees know they willl go on
Even when war and hatreed dear the Earth
Of Civilisation
The grass will grow
Pushing though the pores of fresh loam
Like haur folicles though skin.