I hear the trees of the forest sing,

they sing an ancient praise

 

When the morning star had yet to be named

and the rising sun flared unrestrained.

 

Sing then of birds and riders

clashing in an ash colored air

 

making victims victorious

and princes pale

 

I saw lightning dash

through twigs and gaps and lines

 

I cast my lot and it fell into craters

covering flashing steel and rotting bunkers

 

I watched chariot fire form clouds

Burning the sound of men into evergreen.

 

What do I have to do with you?

Oh dust and air   silence and storm

 

For I hear only the trees of the forest sing

The first and the last of your days.