A tree in the city, ain’t lookin’ pretty, blessed with stress it’s rather pretty shitty… – Imanni Coppola
I would be an old tree. A tree with age to it. The beautiful wrinkles and withering reaching twigs. Under the moonlight as the witches dance beneath my branches. I’d be on a grassy hill watching, tenderly, over the tombstones to my right. I’d be amusing the blackbirds that flutter to my left. The dance of the dancing wolves. The howl of loose dogs from the village miles away.
Dance dance dance! I’d be a dancing tree in the winds of times. From the ancients to the new world warlocks. “A tree, I would certainly be,” says The artist… D!