Downy heads,

forest of the venerable,

sit in judgement of our age.

Shaking quaking locks,

they shudder at the cruelty

of those designed for love.

Juried leaves flutter anxiously in  gossip –

“Did you hear that he …”

“She did what?…” –

and  trunks tremble with disbelief.

So much boldness

in the ways of deceit and faithlessness.

Wind mourns softly,

ruffling the feathers of the Elders

who silently pronounce

the humans in the dock

guilty…