I ran through the forest today
and wondered about trees.
Do they feel something like joy
at the touch of sun on branches every morning?
A thrill of fear when the wind tears spray from the ocean
and rushes up the valley?
Or perhaps they know the sorrow of endings,
the pain of outliving and remaining and remembering
when others are gone?
The trees I ran beneath today
held the memory of last night’s rain
and shed their tears as I passed.
Don Lowe 