WOODY
By David Allen
Woody’s been sitting there
for quite some time now.
Centuries have passed.
He’s rooted to a spot
at the edge of the woods,
where he observes the progress
and, sadly, the eventual regress
of the humans in the valley below.
“Why don’t they find their roots
and settle down?” he muses.
“They never stay long enough
to get into the sync of the living earth.”
Type Dancing 