The trees make music

 

 

 The silence.. the silence

The falsehood, the calls of countless crickets

The music of nature, the artistic creation

  Created without true conscious

 

There was no design, maticulous planning

There is no order in the grass

  The dweling of the conductor

The old one, the one who dictates the symphony

 

The nocturnal creatures, singing softly to one another

This truest peace, the new friend

The trees, pillars of knowlege

Housing entire cities, hiding the fantastic from our eyes

Only when we see the creatures of the beautiful song

Do we despise its rythme

    Condeming its composers to genocide