Eleven seeds stolen
from a tree, while a baby
earned its name
I don’t know
any kind of bullets
but ones of hate
And the one meant
to provide comfort tells us
to take up arms
The only arms I need
are holding fast to the tree
I, its forever supporter
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Eleven seeds stolen
from a tree, while a baby
earned its name
I don’t know
any kind of bullets
but ones of hate
And the one meant
to provide comfort tells us
to take up arms
The only arms I need
are holding fast to the tree
I, its forever supporter
These poems are offered free for your enjoyment. If you use them as part of an event, meeting, educational or liturgical setting, please consider tipping the author.
Share this poem:
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