O never harm the dreaming world, the world of green, the world of leaves, but let its million palms unfold the adoration of the trees.
It is a love in darkness wrought obedient to the unseen sun, which than memory, a thought deeper than the graves of time
The turning spindles of the cell sweave a slow forest over space, the dance of love, creation, out of time moves not a leaf, and out of summer, not a shade.
