The sounds of the morning are muted.
I hear what sounds like air turn to raindrops.
There is a symphony in the soundtrack.
It plays my favorite music the tree bough.
There is a world within the world, all knows,
Of many-colored rhythms in the spring
It mirrors as a forest casts shadows.
That it is aware of itself it knows
What beauty without limit would answer.
By words, “beauty, come forward” grows closer
leaf blooming palms eternally travels
the world it crosses crosses it ever
Rooted with restlessness stored in its feet
with heaven in its heart arms of the tree. 
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