My life is a walking tree
Bearing fruits with what it feeds on.
I am beautiful, I have noticed
As it is written on people's faces.
Forgetful is a mistletoe plant
Beating its chest at a location so critical
Killing two thirds of them that live beyond.
Mistletoe, a thief who has stolen from me
Thousands of kilograms of gold,
And there is more to be usurped.
O Farmer, when will you draw your cutlass
And climb up to deal with this destroyer?
© Abotreh
Dansoman, February 20,
2017, The Poetrybank Group
YOU ARE READING
Sacrifice
EspiritualThis is a series of selected poems out of the several hundreds I have written since September, 2015.
