Trees

The trees grow high,
Nearly touching the sky.
Tons, their bodies weigh
And be just gods they may.

They look upon us from their height,
Doing nothing for us in spite.
They see us cutting down their friend,
Waiting until we come to an end.

As they can now lead brave rebellions,
While we behave ourselves like hellions.
They wait for us to cease existing,
They wait for us to stop persisting.

They wait for days and days and years,
Watching us get succumbed by our fears.
They look upon us with disgust,
Waiting for us to be covered by dust.