The Trees Are Waking Poem by Melody Song

Into the fiery horizon the sun plunges and projects its rays
To caress the strong boughs of
The ancient trees. As Apollo sinks lower,
Sparks shoot into the darkening sky and never burn out.
Leaves stir as a small breeze comes into being.
The trees are waking.

Night is nigh and more past souls wake.
As they converse, the leaves move swiftly, rustling.
Boughs creak as spirits begin their dances.
Into their graceful movements they weave the story of their past,
Whispering words that no mortal ears shall ever hear.
The trees have awaken.