You once confessed,
That you could talk to trees,
And that makes sense,
Since you can talk to me.
I've wished I was a tree,
Since the first day I could think,
Be steady and sure of myself,
With roots from which I drink.

I never noticed, until we met,
That wind so often spoke to me.
And I know now why it was so;
With the language of the winds,
Someone can final speak to you,
A zephyr, my love.