Your fingers stroke the clouds
I gaze aloft at your boughs.
Your trunk a mast as upon a ship
I so small, insignifiacnt slip.
Your interwoven tresses, what a sight!
Puts where I stand dark as night
Dark green moss your feet are shod
By them, breezes cause ferns to nod
To Heaven you reach e'er so slow
Reaching before I arrived below.
Someday in eternity I will look down
See below your still questing crown
Have you answers to that we seek?
What could you tell if you could speak?
About your base, what lives have passed?
As you stood serene, Heaven in your grasp.