The Land of Whispering Trees

The sun never rose, the moon never set Yet filled with light eyes can never get Filled it is also with other things, Not spoken about among living beings. The wafting sounds are "Nothing", they say, Just the dangling toys of "Nature's Play", OH! But they are so unlike the buzzing of bees And only heard in The Land of Whispering Trees. The strangers passing often heard "Sounds", but unlike that of the chirping bird, " Noises", they breathe,"Noises", Heard above their own trembling voices. "Paths hidden are there", they say,"Paths hidden", To riches and wealth of nature, unbidden; But never did one ever even smell the breeze Coming from The Land of Whispering Trees. Dark birds under a dark sky are often seen, But never left a trace as to what might have been the reason for their shrieking sheiks and howling howls, Registering beliefs, common, in terrible wholesome ghouls. So the telling tales told, Tales of the mighty, charming and bold; With limbs of steel and hearts of arctic freeze, Who met with doom in The Land of Whispering Trees. Still some are left who dare to tell, The story of the mighty mountain tree that fell; To chips and searing grind, from the Hundred Saws Borne by hands, by no his fault, his foes. So the word spreads through the wheening winds whisper, The language of which, no mortal can decipher; And so from the forest land of slime and grease, Rose like a sphinx, The Land of Whispering Trees.