The Whisper of Flowers
Sunlight trickles on damp moss, it seems to glow,
The undergrowth is wild, without the presence of man, no beau,
Has trampled on the flowers below.
Their petaled heads look upward in their little grove,
Above tall branches block out the sun, and the flowers woe,
Trees tower, while the flowers are low,
And this is where a conversation begins with gusto.
Trees
Why do you whisper so needlessly,
You know we hear you heedlessly,
So why continue this feat?
There are many reasons why we “whisper”,
Our “whispers” are shouts dissolved by breeze.
They would sound crisper,
If you weren’t, in size, greater.
Our dissent has been sowed,
The same we always cater,
Nothing is enshroud.
We are worthy of respect, we cry,
Do not ignore us,
Yet blocking the sun, you leave us to die,
And thus,
Continues this cycle.
We will not stop our fight,
Bring your hateful sickle,
But we know we’re right.
LARISSA “LARRY” MARISCAL is a sophomore pursuing a Baccalaureate in English with a minor in Art. “My name is Larry, I’m a poet. I wrote this bio just to show it.”