Sycamore Trees

Zacchaues, come down,
for the tree is rotten,
it cannot hold your weight;
It belongs to someone else
and is not yours to climb;
You shall be made sick,
pesticides are still on the leaves;
Those clouds look like lightning,
this is the tallest tree;
You left your door unlocked,
strangers are eating there;
The poor are gathering,
demanding you see to them;
For you should hide in your house today.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s