The forest of talking trees,
Had a daughter they loved and set her free.

The daughter, she went out far,
to distant lands, and to men with guitars.

Those men, they smoked something called weed,
She took a sniff, and then she fled the scene.

Her guardians had taught her long back
That anything that made her feel funny was bad.

For instance, the nectar of the bees,
it made rashes appear on her skin.

The bees, she recounted once,
to a traveler, she met on one of her runs.

She was running from the men with guitars,
and she told her friend, that bees preferred honey in their combs rather in jars.

Her friend, smiled at her,
he looked at her too plainly, as a vulnerable girl like a puny bird.

Guess he forgot the beaks,
of the birds, and how sharp they can be.

She ran from her ‘friend’ and ran
and thought of scouring even further lands.

Once she came across a sea,
the brilliant blue fascinated her being.

She heard someone call it a name,
She was confused, the brilliant blue hadn’t told her one then.

When she asked the brilliant blue, it said:
“My dear girl, humans name and in their minds they thread.”

“They thread names and pictures to make some sense,
And once they make enough of it, comes relief immense.

“For their puny brains,
Can’t handle not knowing pittance.”

The daughter of the talking trees,
Pondered over this.

Jumping up and down the stairs,
she thought of why a human even cares.

Caring for a friend once, she went as far as to a mountain,
the tallest mountain in all land, they called it in the known terrain.

She went to bury her friends’ remains,
and the mountaineer could not understand why it was of consequence.

The bees’ remains, she called it.
She explained gently that she ‘owed one to the bee.’

A phrase she’d learnt from her travels,
and as far as phrases go, there was another which quite unravels.

‘The stars quite dazzle,’
and she could not understand that as the coat against her she nuzzled.

Because stars, she knew, didn't shine for them,
It was for whom they loved, and for their friends.

She understood that humans couldn't believe
That even those stars they seemingly loved had in them a being.

She looked up at the stars floating on water once,
the Dead Sea, they called it, and they reported seeing a ghost that day once.

Floating on the water, they said
but it was only the daughter wondering how everything was made.  

She wondered the point of it all,
because the brilliant blue had told her humans wonder about it too, after all.

And she thought how it didn't have a point,
what was the need of making some sense, or a point?

If everything you saw was beautiful?
Wasn't that enough meaning after all?

Because beautiful things, and the workings and the ends,
all these human-ities, deserve to be experienced.

She thought of how beautiful the ball
and everything she’d seen was  after all.

The ball we live in, she thought
Maybe I could see it if I go on further and don’t get caught.

By these humans.

To this day the forest of the talking trees
think of their daughter as a passing breeze.

A breeze wonderfully so was she,
because they know, it was her that sent stars their way to look at and

To believe.