This morning, I jogged on a familiar path near my home.
One that I tend to make
before the sun rises
the stars still shinning
the homes still dark
the streetlights illuminating my way.
A view that I tend to overlook
were three aspens planted on a small strip of grass
between the sidewalk and road.
The body of the trees so slim and flaky
it appeared
they had fallen to a deep
and sullen sickness.
The aspens stood as brave as they could
extended their frail arms to the pink sky
as the morning breeze allowed
their soft cries to be heard.
"This environment is quenching our thirst",
they cried.
"We are not able to thrive in this environment",
they cried.
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