The tall trees raise their brow,
As if they are witnessing the show.
Needle like leaves,
Swaying in tandem,
The winds jolting,
And stopping at random.
The fruits seated comfortable in ground,
Done and dusted,
Like they have had their round,
Of highs and applause,
Of the sway and pause,
Content and tanned,
Its been a lifetime.
Running their errands
And playing the wind-chime,
Laying in the forest,
I ponder in sunshine,
Is it the story of the Pine,
Or is it mine.
