Trees

These trees, they live a history of their own.

The decrepit marks on their barks,

Their ever broad canopy 

Their infinite existence.

In a dark forest lane all alone,

Where silence is a foe,

And sound a phantom.

These immortals are your only barren company,

Looks at their barks with battle scars,

Their haunting branches.

Listen to their silence

Feel their daunting chatter.

Aren't they angels in day?

Isn't their silence a pleasure in light?

It never feels the same in night.

Time has been a witness

Never have they hindered someone in need.

Nor will they be angels when you plead.