Mom, why are there moving trees but no speaking trees?
Her voice was innocently curious – shocked by the lack of talking green things.
Little one, their dancing is its own dialect.
Watch them move and you will hear them whisper.
She rubbed her blue eyes with a hand holding yesterday’s crayon marks.
The sweet summer wind blew her white hair from her chocolate stained face and she smelled the green things.
They danced and then whispered words like Dad did.
Clear, smooth, and jealous.
Perhaps, the green things, spoke children words.