The priesting silence of tree startles
I wait for it to sway and move at least as turtle
When I do not hear its  gasp
I feel the sting of  vasp
I die for Earth's scent that it gives
Which penetrates in my nosetrils
Whenever speedily allows the wind to blow
The air whispers through its branches with special glow
Makes me fresh but when it turns silent
I feel like the sorrow of butterfly in torment