I speak to the trees

Dirt and sleaze, the world is on its knees

Whilst many pray to plastic gods i spend my time with trees

The Sycamore is budding, the Oak in silence waits

As we head towards the ides of March uncertain of our fates.

Sleaze and dirt, there’s people getting hurt

Its time to ring the warning bell and sound the alert.

I walk in the woods, it helps me to breathe

As we head towards the ides of March we seek a reprieve.

The Ash tree is nodding, the blackthorn affirms

The Walnut in its wise accord whispers to the worms.

The ides are a-coming, the Emperor will fall

Stay rooted in the truth of times, stand up and be tall.

The Chestnut is counselling the Willow in its woe

The Maple knows that weathering is all it needs to grow.

The ides are a-coming, and time will reveal

That things change according to the turning of a wheel.

Cycles and seasons and no other reasons ‘cept time.