The hungry look up from their prey
And the snakes slither to make way.
The crows silence their caws
And on a branch, they stay.
The crickets' silence and the watchful eyes of the night stare
As the woman of great grace lays all her pain bare.
The soil mulches beneath her feet
And the clouds gather in defeat
For even the secretive tears of a woman,
Ring through the trees with a blare
A storm is coming as the life in the forest hides and finds shelter
For in times like these, one does not falter to save their life.
But the woman who cries makes no moves otherwise
None but her shoulders bobbing and crying her eyes deprived
“Come, come!”, the animals say.
But the woman with human ears cannot fathom what causes their dismay
She feels no one loves her. They’ve all gone away.
But the trees and its denizens have never, and never will look upon her with hate.
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