The next story is about the poet’s secret
A few letters scrawled atop the secret tree
“Trust None with Secrets”
Unsealed for all to see
But there are other powers
And they have dictated
It was for this reason no one could find the tree.
Eagles over head could not peer well enough between the sparse leaves, it was not a tree something could take shelter in. It seemed only a tree in relief.
He was a great dictator but a better barber
He was a nazi, and a jew
He was a traitor and a hero
He was a survivor.
He saw many things, and hid his blue eyes under a dark wig
He kept it classy
And became a jazz player
He lives a sad life now, penny pincher bitters
Hang thee young baggage upon a branch
And little ones come to feed.
All our secrets can no longer hide
The days in quiet stalking
Anywhere you went anything you said
You were responsible for,
You’d let another creature into the wild
Mother Nature turned and scorned over us all
She sent her Son instead
Send sweet arts with sweet hearts
Curses, no human will