by Zee Southcombe
The earth was red; a burnt auburn,
And the shrubbery growing from this earth that was almost
Bursting with life.
The whole forest glowed with soft, bright moss
That clung tightly to rocks, and trees; Oh, the trees!
Willing us to join them.
The collection of strangers, forced together in some
A conversation, barely, a collision of ideals, desperately
For someone like me.