Between the trees a light breeze blew,
A gentle ripple shivered leaves.
It seemed the trees had never moved,
Their roots held deep in solid ground.
It seemed the breeze was passing through:
Once here then on. It barely touched
The earth at all, it had no weight.
The trees were real, the breeze a myth.
And from the breeze the stories grew,
And from the trees the tales were true.
In time the trees and breeze would change:
The breeze grew leaves, the trees took flight.
It seemed the breeze had never moved.
It seemed the trees were passing through.