It’s clear, the
light.
Big too, open
and wide,
Stretching deep
and far,
Scratching all
surfaces.
Splotches of
green are washed
In a
transitioning sun,
Transforming
from a rainy spring
To a glorious
summer.
Trees, many
high, mighty,
Few low, draping
over dirt,
Plant themselves
steady,
Mother Nature’s
army.
I think of
Kamalu,
Like these
trees,
A soldier,
dedicated and strong,
They fight
different battles.
He sheds blood
for this country,
America, founded
upon freedom,
Inked in
independence.
Yet, war is
instigated.
The nose of the
United States
Is stuck in the
countries of others,
Leafing, sifting
for trouble.
Through trouble,
he fights.
Trees, some high
And others low,
Draw swords
against development,
Fight to branch
forth and free.
Battles similar,
Survival,
freedom, peace.
I pray soon,
Kamalu will come
home,
To enjoy a
glorious summer
And to enjoy the
trees.
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