The trees are trembling, tweeting The songs of the earth’s heart, While pale blossoms bend, Chanting the music of kisses lost. In the arcs of their branches, Souls of our ancestors linger, Fleeting, dancing as whisps in the air. The fruits of wisdom languidly ripple, Through the currents of soft breezes, Nemo hand in hand, With echoes unfolding soft tales, While enchanter streams weave Through our nakedness, Let it wash us, cradle us In the murmur of the day’s light.
- Mina Loy