Her branches quiver
Soft leaves floating on the running wind
Slivers of sunlight scattered
I sit at her feet
Rough roots that vein through the dirt
I wait for her song
Slow and unsure at first
A soft tune with cracking notes
As she sways to her own beat
The birds fly to listen
And she sings louder
The river roaring by her side
My head resting on her cut dead family
Tears stream through her broken words
Ringing cold and true
Through the rocky party of forbidden woods
As the flowers open to sad music
And it is gone
The forest hangs in silence
And I sit at her feet
Waiting for her song.
Can you hear it?