I foraged on my own through the day.
Like carved words on her womb and thighs. I knew it was you.
Her screaming became listless, her pale hands stained blue.
Her eyes were a dark grey haze, looking up reflecting the clouds that drifted by.
Her mind drifted along with them.
I reached down my branches.
Lift up, my darling.
Not the whole world, is so unkind.
Made wings with my leaves and sent her on her way.
She whispered a song on her flight up.
One only mother's know.
And I wept. I wept for centuries, my branches grew longer, reaching for all our children.
A protective net, a web we weaved.
I taught the locust, the crickets, and flies.
And in the spring and summer, you'll hear in unison how the wind still hums.
For you, our little one.

Saree-