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Whisper of the Trees’

March 9, 2010

The cold stream flows by the trees
Flowing over rock and reeds
Between tall oaks and by my knees

And makes no noise, Silently

Giving water to the land
Where the trees only stand
Coldly flowing by my hand

By the young trees, Noiselessly

Rushing by the trees’ moan
Over the land’s earthy bone
Raging over rock and stone

Bubbling violently, Quietly

This is the beauty I see
All of this comes to me
As I sit by the trees

Wile they whisper “come and see”