The mystic trees..

To those who learn fate from trees,
I ask, what good will it do to thee
To learn from the growing dead,
And they look upon me and smile,
no words I hear,but a rustle instead,

they speak in a language of rustling leaves,
as sweet and sour as the blooming fruits,
as potent as content, as a scented bower,
I say to them, in my charmed delight,
I’ll lie midst the pot-pourri,amidst the flowers,

And they look upon me and smile,
in their whispers, they say unto me,
no words I hear,but a rustle instead,
what good will it do to thee
To learn from the growing dead.

-CD

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