I am tired      says the tree.

O the weight of blossoms, seeds, children.  

 

But look      say the roots.

I cradle all the longings of blossoms, seeds, children.

 

The blossoms have turned to seeds.

The seeds have blown away. 

The children laugh at a small turtle swimming the air.

 

The children laugh at a small turtle.

The children laugh.

The children.