I see symbols of a language,
I do not understand,
But I know of another language here,
It is the language of the birds and trees,
of the mice and deer.

I look upon the bubbling stream,
the calamity is what it seems,
the peace washes over the land,
over the rain forests and desert sand.

The quiet breeze shuffles the leaves,
speaking the language of the birds and trees.

I see the ancient writing,
and hear nature’s aging song,
I feel the fitting feeling,
through the water, playing along.

The light fades from nature’s green and brown,
as its host, the sun, goes down.

The silent night
replaces
the bright,
light
day.
So sweetly,
sweetly
swept away.