The trees look up into the sky,
All thinking, “Oh a dark face, why?”
A grey cloud emerges, smiling,
“Hurrah, Big Brother is coming!”
The trees shake in fear, the clouds mocked,
They stay rooted to the floor, shocked.
“Oh no, it’s Big Brother,” they say,
“Maybe he will come, but not stay!”
Anticipation and disgust,
Fills up the waiting trees, they must.
“No one ever outran Big Brother,
He is just too fast… Run? Never.”
As Big Brother rushes closer,
He comes nearer, the sky darker.
Dust and earth surrounds the poor trees,
He’s controlling their destinies.
“What happened to them, the trees?”
“Until next time…”, he ignores pleas.
The young trees, little do they know,
Their old father saw the whole show.
Bluebell Books’ Short Story Slam 3 (: I’ll love to see your comments.