the dew forms soundlessly born between the sacred bonds and folds of heaven and earth. no sense of time: the beat of my heart when it is with your heart. patient, and curious, so quiet is our passion; privy to the minds of children, as whispered secrets kept safe in the sleeping trees, the trust of grandchild and grandfather and grandmother. a love so substantial for our bodies; (that) a new colour, a new life, gives unto the world. when the spirit of this flower is spent, and the wonder of our days have no more tomorrow, that which was borrowed, that which was lent, we'll live to return, hold us in peace, nevermore in sorrow, and on that Morning, when we leave this world our best, in the loving arms of storyteller trees, we will rest, we will rest, we will rest.