If

Slender stems stand casting shadows like stained glass, Leaving space for imagination to grow as moss does, Covering entirely surfaces untouched by beams of sunlight, Unkempt amongst the tendrils of vines one's mind meanders and then as quickly as it comes the ideas Stop for the beauty surrounding it causes Pause to unveil secrets hidden Though the trees scream silently Their fear is plain Their need is obvious If one stops to hear