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
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