The evergreen trees that I always wrote about
have been cut down, village ordinances have deemed
them too unsafe to be allowed to continue.
The poet is often a man you pass by every day, not
realizing what spiritual or sensual thoughts often
are waiting to be poured out onto his keyboard when
he gets home.
Do you remember the time you once walked past me
as I was gazing in awe at the evergreen trees?














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