The Book of the Dead.

If trees could talk,
I wonder what they would say.
Would they talk about life's joys?
Or would they talk about the pain?
Would they tell the tales of terrifying storms, of suffering and loss?
Or would they talk about any of us at all?
Would they talk about how the birds make their home in their arms?
Or how children built houses in them as clubs?
Would they speak of the names written on them like stone?
Or the seeds planted by them to grow?
What would they say about life if they could?
What would they say, when they can't get away or escape?