You really can persuade a lot of people in nearly anything, but you first have to convince yourself.
city of high hills and pensive poets
who sang songs of high hills and warm winds.
a tree sheds its leaves,
leaving the branches bare
and the ground around it
littered in long dead leaves.
talked of the accumulating dirt
being tossed about by the wind,
and the amount of work
it would take to sweep the streets clean.
The pensive poets
only sang of the falling leaves.
Of how the breeze blew them with ease
and how, as they fell
You could tell how naked the tree looked.
No one sang
of the suicidal teen – that was seen
hanging from a tight rope on the tree.
More poetry at The Poets Peace