Whispers

Whispers

The trees sing a secret song
that evil can't understand
when the warm summer breeze
decides to shake their hand.

They speak of the future,
Of what's to come.
They warn the good about the evil
who are so unwelcome.
Are we the evil?
Or are we the good?
When a tree whispers into the ear of a creature,
If we are nearby,
They run.
Am I guessing why?
I, myself, have never heard this strange song.

They tell about bombs,
People buried in the sand.
We don't listen though.
We don't want to understand.