Oh Silk Cotton, you never forgot

When the waterworks started filling up my eyes,
it was just before sunset bye-bye,
there was no known reason to cry,
but when the waterworks flooded my eyes,
I knew someone was flying out of our sky.
Long before the phones began to ring
and the doctors calling me bring bring.

The root of the Silk Cotton tree was talking to me,
like the vibrations hitting the tears,
translating the code that appears.
The dear old lady who watered you from a shoot,
and talked to you from a youth Silk Cotton tree.
Few knew the connection between you and the dear old lady.
She needed to pour out her love and the Earth budded for her.
As she declined you grew and flourished.
Even after her memory was robbed,
and she could no longer remember you,
you never forgot her Silk Cotton.

Few could spiritually discern your connection Silk Cotton tree.
So just days after they took the axe to you, just days after,
the dear old lady, her body, started signaling imminent flight departure.
Your physical root Silk Cotton tree, your root, strongly in the earth booted.
I remember when you had just from the ground shooted,
the dear old lady mothering you from the root,
and the waterworks just kept on flowing, just kept on flowing,
and long before the first doctorís call,
the waterworks over spilled my waterfall.
It was then I knew.
It was then I knew that pain my constant companion, sometimes friend
was back from a short vacation, and his visits were not unattended with sensation
and more often than not consternation.
However, having learned the many lessons my constant companion had instructed in many a session,
I was a veteran versed variously in the ways of pain nation secession.
Therefore, I would surf pain on the waterworks wave all the way home,
until it crashed on the sandy white shores of hope under the bright blue dome.
There, there I would plant a brand-new tree for Silk Cotton, her, me and you.
There, there no one the birds would shoo.
Lady birds could polish their coats with moos,
and the bees could try on new shoes.
We would all sing again flying in the bright bright shiny blue.

CI-211068019 Knight Truelove poems