One on its own,
has much living beauty,
from its luscious green,
to its brook swept clean.

With petite little flowers,
and butterflies in plenty.
With its sweet-smelling breeze,
and warmth with no freeze.

Another tall and grown,
in an unkempt glory,
from its entangled brush,
to its interwoven lush.

With trees like towers,
and moths powdered heavy.
With its intoxicating wind,
and cold not well to fend.

Together and sewn,
tell and extravagant story,
from their devious fork,
to their streams capped by cork.

With leaves in layers,
and insects in hurry.
With their whispering gusts,
and secrets one oughtn't trust.