Mr. America, it seems you're furiously shoveling like a mad person digging graves beneath your finest sturdy trees.
The ones that have stood tall through storms, lived and even thrived among pestilence and disease.
Yet you expose the tap roots of your own trees as soiled, hairy trichoblast, dry in hot sun till parched, until they absorb no more liquid.
Until high up in the trees, extended branches, their leaves wilt, brown, and die.
That line I heard on, you know, on NPR or something, talking about immigration issues.
Mr. America, it seems you're furiously shoveling like a mad person digging graves beneath your finest sturdy trees.
The ones that have stood tall through storms, lived and even thrived among pestilence and disease.
Yet you expose the tap roots of your own trees as soiled, hairy trichoblast, dry in hot sun till parched, until they absorb no more liquid.
Until high up in the trees, extended branches, their leaves wilt, brown, and die.
That line I heard on, you know, on NPR or something, talking about immigration issues.
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