Stopped to hear the forest think
reflecting on it's vision,
Water streams awaken dreams
no cars or life collision.
Drink of God a hundred hues
these wooded colors spin,
thoughts of grays and olden days
from which we all begin.
Saddened by the softened cries
that tune the ears and sting the eyes,
a song on which the heart relies
from birth until the wind it dies.
Yet still in the mourning trees
it's found as intuition,
stopped to hear the forest think
reflecting on it's vision.