I want to see trees,
that spring from the ground.
Not flowers that flop with each wind.
I want to see passion,
drenched in talent.
No feeling gathers at this touch.
“Get off the stage, darling.â€
I want to see clouds,
parade loudly across the sky.
And morning dew drops squawk
to have people notice them,
and rip the tape off their eager mouths.
