roots beneath

I prefer your waving, leafy limbs
Not more than a breeze,
set in motion.
And the breeze, oh simply that
Will uproot, and fling about

I prefer your roots beneath
Not much more than tripping feet,
a reminder you are near.
And the ground, once packed and smooth
Will disturb, your underground grenade

I prefer your seasons changing
So much more than just time passing,
shift your colors.
And the life, the beauty that
Will die, and break apart

You and I, as stoic statues
Witnesses to living paint

I prefer your seasons changing
I prefer your roots beneath
I prefer your leafy limbs -
and the earth, our dirty feet.