Soilless and skyless,
In the social dens of a virtual world,
Our potential young trees shout slogans,
Hurling spikes of threat and hate.
Birds of wisdom have yet to nest,
Or even pause to rest,
Upon their growing branches,
Beneath their thin adolescent shades.
Their beautiful, tender leaves shiver
In ill-timed storms of dissent,
Before their creative buds can bloom
And bear ever-new fruits.
Soon the young trees may learn
How gales of bias shake and sweep them
Inciting to hiss like hissers.
For, dissent or assent can rarely ripen
Where free speech grows wild in a feral field.
* * *
