The trees they tell their stories

only if you know how to listen.

Close your eyes and feel as you

run your fingers along their withered bark.

Each wrinkle etched with musings of a weary traveler.

Of the exaggerated victories of an amateur warrior.

Of the sweet nothings of a resilient lover failing to impress

the village belle.

Feel the whispers from the rustling leaves,

as they sing their last song,

before they make way for another dwelling.

Like a fading opera singer

ending her act with a grand finale

to a standing ovation as the curtains fall.