The long branches hang down so softly, From the great tree that surrounds us, With many branches, yet unfolding, softly Like a curtain, in the wind, that never closes All the way, nor opens to the sides of the stage, Leaving dark those places that seem rare and alone. The hidden people look and watch from silent slumber Their feelings gone and their faces blank, As they watch the happenings there, They see the tree as it grows firmly down and strongly upward, Until the branches rest among the clouds, And the grass grows deeper and darker As the clouds fill the sunlit sky; Making the vision soft and raining And the branches fall downward, and loop their gazers And the tree grows and stands tall As the stage door closes... The actor walks out of the scene, The tree stands alone upon the stage Its roots growing deeply, breaking the boards It waves a gentle wave As the wind finds it, It becomes itself, Slow.