The tree's faint lament, lost and long,
Exhaled upon the silent song,
Of dusk that dances here and there,
Through the pallid forests fair.
And winged shadows flit all through,
The spectral bows of white in hue,
Dressed in gems of green and gold,
The former kings and queens of old.
They reach for black night overhead,
Chilled with frost and hard as lead,
Held rigid by the beams of light
That span across the ancient night.
Reminiscent of forgotten times,
Clothed in lore, and veiled in rhymes,
The world has not yet touched these dreams,
So still they stand in the ethereal beams.