Pedagogic

Cirilo F. Bautista

 

I walked towards the falling woods

to teach the trees all that I could

 

of time and birth, the language of men,

the virtues of hate and loving.

 

They stood with their fingers flaming,

listened to me with a serious mien:

 

I knew the footnotes, all the text,

my words were precise and correct – 

 

I was sure that they were learning – 

till one tree spoke, speaking in dolor,

to ask why I never changed color.

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