Trees by J. Killmore

I think that I shall never see
A thing as creepy as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the victim’s head and breast

A tree that looks at God all day
And wraps leafy arms round its prey

A tree that may in Summer wear
The heads of victims in her hair

Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Against whose bonds the victim strains

Poems are made by fools like me
But I shall always FEAR THE TREES!

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