All the queen’s men stood tall; heads bowed low
Giving respect for the pine box being carried between them
Every eye was dry, but their hearts wept with each beat
Nothing was more important than being there to respect their fallen comrade
Then they would go out into the world and exact revenge
White Zinfandel sparkled in the glow of the fire
Its hints of sour apple and honey played with
Notes of pine and citrus. The calming taste helped with her stress level
Especially needed since she was watching her house burn
Beneath the soil, we planted our elders
Under the shade of the spruce and maple, it
Rooted our community in history
Yet few ever unearthed this resource, preferring to let the dead sleep.
Residing all along a line
Outside sitting on a bench of pine
Wolfing down the meal upon which they dine
And this is the new normal?
Can’t we come up with something a bit better?
Create a tomorrow that makes yesterday seem like the Middle Ages
Except some pine for that yesterday
Pulling that familiar close to their bosom
The unknown is just too much to …