seeing how it's september now, i assume this is the last postcard with poetry on it i will be getting. it was very cool to get the postcards and i loved reading everyone's poetry. this last poem is called: trees.
we have seen the trees roots like long legs
stretched out above ground ocopus like,
we remember the times as children at night
outside our windows the trees did a hula dance
then a wild frug, winding down swaying
waltz like. trees do these dances at night
sometimes by moonlight, but after we sleep,
after we cleep they uproot themselves
cautiously, disturning the eath so little,
moles are blamed for any piles of dirt,
they dance away on their root tips
embracing limbs with other trees,
they know their dances well, and
they choose their partners carefully.
the chestnut on the corner loves a maple,
she is big leaf maple and rebuff him.
sometimes at night a slight rumbly noise
may awaken you, it's the trees running home,
occasionally they stop in place and retend
it's where they grew, they are so nonchalant,
oh yes, there were nights they liked to frighten you,
wave their limbs and look like monsters,
you thought it was the wind that made them so,
but really they're great actors, fortunately
during the day they stay in their places, espically
in summer on bright days when their shade is needed.