Morning Trees

Stirring on a bed of leaves

Wrapped in a blanket of dew

Cradled in arms of sunlight

Held in nature’s glad tidings

The morning trees ask a question

Voiced as a rustle of branches:

Shall we awaken for dawn’s light

Or hide ourselves in the grey mist?

So God walks through the forest

His knickers already knotted

And asks the trees to come clean

As icicles shine in his beard.

The trees have no choice but to say:

We’d rather skip off this new day

And let something else blossom green

While we sleep inside of our sheen.

The Almighty’s beard bristled red

And icicles smashed on his boots

Your bark’s no match for mine, He said

I can strike you down to your roots.

Instead I’ll plant a brand new tree

With fruit much more catchy than yours

A bite that will free man from me

While you stay stuck behind my doors.

And God did as He promised

The new fruit the envy of all

And fashioned woman for man

So someone would pluck the tree.

The morning trees watched in silence

As man and wife left to eat sand

Then shook before Cherubim’s sword

Branches falling as loosed embers.

Nothing left now but grey stumps

Dead things in a long lost prison

Wasteland guarded by an angel

Job and pension for a Cherub.

Maybe God’s had a change of heart

His icicles seem less severe

And the stumps are growing branches

A bit of green turned to the sun

Man may be returning quite soon

God’s Son has completed His work

If so, then the trees will bloom too

And this time awaken on cue.

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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