If tree’s could cry and move
The act of recycling everyone would behoove,
Would you still cut them down?
A sense of guilt for wasted paper would be found
If rain reproached the instance it fell
I’d have to let the rain fall on you, mademoiselle
Would rainy days seem more tenebrous?
We can’t deny the rain an experience so sensuous
If the desert could turn heat into poetic verses
Standing in the heat, could no longer be aversive
Poetry with you in Vegas would be a guarantee,
So where does that leave me?
© Luis Valencia