The Forest
The Forest
In a dream, the forest spoke to me.
The wind carrying his words.
Listen to me, listen to me now.
But my head could not be turned.
Whispers soft like a summer breeze,
small and sweet like me.
They got to me, got to me good.
Turning my head at last.
So, I listened, taking in his every word.
Remembering the melody he used.
That good old forest telling me the secret:
Of becoming who I'm supposed to be.
From that vintage day,
I became the forest.
The wind carrying his words.
Listen to me, listen to me now.
But my head could not be turned.
Whispers soft like a summer breeze,
small and sweet like me.
They got to me, got to me good.
Turning my head at last.
So, I listened, taking in his every word.
Remembering the melody he used.
That good old forest telling me the secret:
Of becoming who I'm supposed to be.
From that vintage day,
I became the forest.
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