The trees, they whisper to me
Some ancient language I'm learning to hear,
And in the dark of night,
As they stretch their long fingers towards me,
I lean in closer to hear more clearly.
Only a slight gloss of due
In the moonlight and chirping crickets,
As I tussle through the thickets;
And I scarcely notice the briar
Between their trunks.
It's that loosely saddened glaze
In the knots of their eyes
That pulls me in closer.
Leaning over patches of rising mushrooms,
I gently pick at their loose bark
And I feel a slight shiver as I say,
"Dearest friend, I am lost.
I stand here before you looking for your wisdom
That you willfully provide;
Yet I am ashamed to say,
I have lost my way
And no longer recall the language of which you speak.
"Bare me your magick.
I no longer need the diamond or the wheel,
The salary or the deal,
The TV or the gear.
Speak once more, tell my why I'm here."
And the tree whispers back, "I am still here."
The ecosystem was always completely balanced before MAN showed up...