The Cold Hard Shell of Pearls

The trees sing to me in whispers

Of the children waiting to be born

And the cold hard shell

Of pearls

Of the softly breathing

Flowers who just wish

To be spared the shivering

Sensation of crushed stems

And of the anchors thrown

Across the sea of peace

To stop it from moving

The trees tell me things they see

And stories that they hear

But the one I remember most

Was the tale of a girl

Who could speak to the trees.