i like it here in this mind of yours
although it does tend to get a bit lonely.
sometimes i cuddle the surrounding fields
which are gushing with stalks of wheat
as i stretch out my roots underneath the ground
as far as i can reach
and as for my branches,
well they reach far into the beautiful orange skies
as the everlasting sunset casts patterns of my golden leaves onto the ground
and they rustle in the gentle breeze typical of spring.
it's spring time all year round, here
the fluent features of time, frozen:
the flowers always mid-bloom, await their future prosperity;
butterflies find themselves ready to emerge from their cocoons,
and that smell of freshly cut grass lingers.
there's always time for a new start
and i'm always growing bigger and wiser.
it's not so bad here, in this mind of yours
although it does tend to get a bit lonely.
but the aura of your presence always sparkles in the air;
you did make this place, after all.
and sometimes i find myself visited by a lady
who sits against my trunk;
she basks in the beautiful sunset
and calmly, and pleasantly reads.
she looks content as she sits
but there's always something more,
something hiding in her expression
and a glisten of sadness in her eyes.
if i had arms i would curl them around her
and stroke her flowing hair.
but for now she just sits quietly,
this strange, wistful girl.
she likes you, i can tell;
i may just be just a tree
but my insight stretches as far as the tips of my branches-
and as you watch over us
she's happy that you're here.