Round The Trees We Run

Wild flowers we pick
Butterflies, so colorful we chase
Not a thorn we fear would prick
Time in space not afraid to loose
For all is bare, and flower-juice we lick
You giggle, your cheek, my hand I place
Swallows, Gazelles, and Dick-dick
Marvell and stare, and make for glories
Grass, green and soft, a desire to pick
Tree leaves, they sway and dance
Round the trees we run, loose stumps I kick
My love, fruits we pick, heaven the place!

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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