Some Tree Disease

I can still feel the trees,
the moist rush of breeze
through the porous leaves –
sweetened by stomata.

I can still smell the ground.
That smell – of grass;
Of each shoot sharpened
scent – piercing olfactories
that no longer function.

There is no grass –
to tickle jaded lips,
no trees –
bagged leaves;
The tears of a timid toddler,
in the pants of these.

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