Trees sway in the mind,
Green colours compose the beauty
And the lushness of the world stems from the heart.
Old oaks polish into fat, juicy leaves
And the heavy blobs of rain 
Droop off the tips.
A canopy cast shadows from up above
Onto the forest floor
Dancing and twinkling between
Old leaves, rusty, individual
In their fermentation 
Smells waft from the browns and reds
And feet create mushy footprints in the bed
For future generations on which to compose their patterns
And to flourish up to the sky and to the heavens.

A child rushes to and frow 
With the wind swaying to the melody of play
And the ball becomes the beat.
It dances round the colours of the world
And bounces off surfaces of wood
And a bird sways and flows to the melody.

The old oak 
With wisdom grown as strong as the lofty branches,
Pompous and grand up above in the heavens 
Smiles down to allow the sounds to reverberate
Into its nut like stump.

The ball penetrates and commands the eye
And carves patterns on the wood 
And so life becomes fun and merry
And sways along with the trees

To and frow in irregular patterns,
Through and out 
And the bird looks and loves.

The pink faced boy,
Innocent, swirls

And the melody is the beat of life.