In front of my bedroom window
Pine trees brush against the horizon
Triangle shades in a waving distance
They stand tall in front of existence.
They have not asked to be alive
Nor do they question their own demise.
For decades and centuries they have persisted
Competing with winds of changing skies
Delighted when the sun nudges them lightly
Or when the moon fondles them nightly.
They bow their head to a raging sky
And stoically see those years roll by.
I often gaze out my bedroom window
Throwing life’s complaints at them.
But even that does not uproot them
They simply nod and carry on.