Peaceful Trees (Sestina)

Our ears hear that of restless trees,
The wind blowing gently on the flowers,
Picking up the faint sound of awoken bugs,
We hear the rolling of dried brown leaves.
Up we look to the chirping sky,
As if for some reason we've never heard the sound.

The rustling we hear a familiar sound,
For everyone seems to love the sound of trees,
Every limb seemed to reach for the sky,
Crimson leaves falling to red-lipped flowers,
Fallen comrades slowly float down to join the other leaves,
Now they are left to be taken by fleeting bugs.

Looking for answers in the smallest of bugs,
Wondering how they truly make their sweetest of sound,
Walking slowly among the golden leaves,
Feeling the surface of towering trees,
Stopping so often to admire the flowers,
Glancing eyes meet that of the great tangerine sky.

Rolling clouds go by on the aging sky,
Watching wings flutter on passing bugs,
Bees hard at work to reach the violet flowers,
The buzzing of their wings not the only sound,
Long oaken arms reach out from youthful trees,
Watching the deer as he slowly leaves.

Lying on this bed of amber leaves,
Eyes glaring up at the scarlet sky,
The crown of gold sits upon the trees,
No buzzing, but simply chirping heard from the smallest of bugs,
A smile shapes up and your eyes close as you hear the delightful sound,
Bees take leave and say their farewells to the gentle flowers.

So we inhale the last scent of vermilion flowers,
Take our last steps on the copper leaves,
Embrace the last of the heavenly sound.
Glimpse our last at the gleaming sky,
We say our farewells to the lightning bugs,
Admire our last of the ancient trees.

So as the flowers urn to reach the sky,
She denies them this as fallen leaves drift by fluttering bugs,
And the last sound we hear is that of peaceful trees.