The desert sands do not move with the tides

The sun cannot set without falling low

New desolate nights cause the birds to hide

New world-turners begin to move it slow

"Now what can you do for me?" asked green trees

From where they stood, swaying all alone

"What have you done for us?" whimpered little leaves

"This is a behvaior we can't condone."

We are the end of the last green days

The living and the live begin to crash

Watching from the tips of the trees did they

Feel the soft warmth of the white falling ash

Their little voices fell with the last snow

It is time for a long nap and they know