Acer Sacharrum

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

A place turned blue and silver by the light 

That lingers well beyond the morning mist. 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

Avaricious abundance, announcing

Blasphemous betrayals

Concertina cavorting cacophonous cadence

Depicting death-desired dread

To the trees, 

Your green crowns standing proudly against the sky;

To the trees,

Trunks twisting every which way

Rooted firmly to the earth

With your crests in the clouds.

To the trees,

Good morning, sunlight like syrup

Touching every dew-streaked blade

Of grass and puddle of drying mud.

Good morning, air that smells of spring,

Air that sounds

if feelings are fluid then so is

the way you run your hands through your hair halfway out of your braid

your breath against my neck since you don't want others to hear