Trees

The trees they whisper
One tree was my father
And he was a redwood
He spoke about the time
Before there were people
When there were only
Other trees
They spoke quietly
In a fog
About the darkness
And the coolness
Of misty mornings
Where the ink
Splotches of clouds
Were all you knew
For miles In any direction
In this world
The sun was born
Everyday
Like a torrent of love
From a round fiery
Heart.