Once long ago when trees and birds nestled and lived together
and the wind switched in between the tides of March
I heard, and beheld a tree no longer winking, no longer springing
and it bent and moaned as it aged and withered
the birds did chirp
and the trees did sob
and all those in slow cold echo of the land beheld
as the tree so lonely did bend, and moan
the tree, all alone
Wept upon itself
and the birds did chirp and gather
the trees ignored and continued without matter
all things do end, all things do die
so it goes
the tree continued to weep
and the birds did gather
bending the tree further
no one came
except for the birds who did chatter
the song they sang did not matter to the tree
the world did not breathe and repeat the fresh heartbeat
and the tree did not grow, it continued to wither
so it goes and so it is told
birds chirped their songs to the dying tree
and more soon gathered
they nestled in the branches
creating nests and in dead branches
all were there, so it goes
and the tree no longer moved, nor wept
so the story goes
