Ṭū𝖇ā ŤяⓔẸ
Like a Tree, I Grew in the Desert Below your feet: As you rest on the thirst of my roots And bite the fruits of love... Let me ask those glass eyes what they’ve seen, As they want to be gone—seeking Refuge in the wind. So, to hold them close, I could evolve my wings... But who knows how? I’m just a tree—for no one but you, O’ my lady! My branches bow; Shade has been desired by poets, travelers, And students somehow. For once, you uttered those words of Honey, as the bees buzzed above. Now I’m just a bitter tree, whose leaves Are turning brown. If you ever want to leave my garden and take Away the mud on your butt, Let me turn into a chair for you— To sit forever in your hut.
