Photograph by Maria Fokas
The branches dare to disturb;
Moving in a motion that tangles their world.
Their whispers; in the winds of passing seasons –
The fear of triumph is absent,
They are alive, that is their quest –
Conversations of love do not break their delicate wings.
Trees have wings?
Wings without feathers; fly by the scent of their leaves.
They capture the day, and stir the night.
No words to torture their souls –
They reflect on prolonged possibilities;
And drink from the songs of passers-by.
© Maria Fokas/ Feb 17 2016/All Rights Reserved