67: Rosedale

Living in the WASP's nest
in the middle of the neighbourhood
but we didn't dare to enter
and be stung by the beliefs of another,
instead, they stuck to their own kind.

And the trail dozed off in the calamity of woods
and the mother of nature
who was absent-without-leave.
And the wasps stayed buzzing
with their manufactured morals
sticking rightly to the roof
of that pretentious tree.

Never talked, only saw the glimpses of another kind
Barred by society's hidden walls.