How many trees has this wind touched?
Caressing leaves as it says its goodbyes,
Passing through sun and meadow, grove and shadow.
Where now does it fly?

Where were these painted skies born?
The clouds littered across a blue canvas with the stroke of a brush,
Forever billowing along with a soft breeze.
Only existing as a distant water's glancing hush?

What changes has this wise tree seen?
Love, hate, kindness, compassion, luck,
Spreading its roots ever deeper in the earth.
How is it different now, what stuck?

What time did this warmth arrive?
Its journey throught he heavens, beautiful, pure,
Seeping into my skin with a golden kiss.
Why here were you lured?