Trees of Life

Grabbing hold of the brown bark,
It felt nothing but the soft wind blow.
Moving left and right but unable to leave.
Covered in dangling leaves in spring and summer,
But as cold as ice in autumn and winter.

Moss overtaking the thick oak trunk,
Flowers poking their way up to the surface.
The trees beckon me forward and so I go,
Picking me up they start to whisper their unheard stories.

A feeling of uneasiness shot up my spine,
But I stayed alert of my surroundings.
Stories told only to the ones who know.
The stories were of evil people full of hate,
But were cured with the touch of a helping hand.