Absurdity

Whispering Willow tell me your secrets,
The little details the Babbling Brook think they are shouting.
You Whispering Willow alone know the secrets of our world,
And yet you remain silent and still.
I lean my back against you and gaze up,
Hoping that maybe the Luscious Leaves will tell me something,
But alas! mere silence.
The Babbling Brook continues to shout nonsense,
About This or That,
The Babbling Brook tries to tell me everything it can,
But it rushes over itself like a dog with too many tongues,
And all I hear is a steady dull roar.
Yet you remain,
Steady in your silence to me,
I run my hands against your rough textured bark,
How old you must be,
Full of such wisdom.
I hear the Wind blowing through your leaves,
But that isn't the Luscious Leaves talking,
Simply the Wandering Wind,
Which too knows a great deal;
But the Wandering Wind doesn't try to talk to me,
of that much I'm sure.
As the Wandering Wind surges and dulls,
Surely it must be whispering in the ears of Giants,
Men greater than myself,
For none of the talkings of the Wandering Wind make any sense to me.
I gaze up again, and now I can see the Shining Sun,
Hitting my eyes through the Luscious Leaves.
The Shining Sun I'm sure is trying to tell me things,
For it is glaring right at me.
Woe is me though, for the Shining Sun appears to be a mute.
I avert my eyes back down,
So they may get the rest they so duly deserve.


I awaken and the Shining Sun has moved on,
Perhaps now it has found it's voice,
And grown weary of my inability to listen,
and has joined the Wandering Wind to telling the Giants,
Those great men,
All they know.
I look to you Babbling Brook,
And wonder when you will too leave me.
I stretch and lean again against the Whispering Willow,
You will never leave me for the Giants,
Not even the Giants shall ever hear whispers.


And I lie here content on not knowing,
For what little I know of the ways of the Giants,
Those men who are so much greater than mere I,
And what little I know of the Shining Sun,
Who will leave me completely come night;
And what little I know of the Wandering Wind,
Who keeps passing me by;
And what little I know of the Luscious Leaves,
Who will be gone by Autumn;
And what little I know of the Babbling Brook,
Which can never slow down enough to make sense;
I know of you Whispering Willow,
That you will stay here by the Babbling Brook,
Keeping your secrets well kept to yourself,
And you will always be here for me to lean my back on,
Until I am too all to come back and question you anymore.
Goodbye I say Whispering Willow,
I will walk down this path again,
And meet you by the Babbling Brook,
For another afternoon of peace and quiet,
While I try to get you to tell me the secrets of the world.