Treetops in Paradise
Persimmon left a tale derived from an epiphany;
In spite of certain whelps to make a litany.
Atop an airbrushed cascade of green and blue,
Trounced by crushing canopies arranged by you.
Above the treetops in paradise, harmony’s gate
Leads the way for loneliness, forgotten’s fate.
Milton left words to translate by a sordid pen,
Ramblings from Dante became a stolen wren.
A linear lament across a wind torn sail;
Loneliness among, when all else can prevail.
