The wind whispers to me as it passes by,
Tells me stories of where it's been and why,
It confides in me over and over again,
But to me it is nothing more than the wind.
The trees murmur softly, they speak earnestly,
They tell all their secrets, they'll reveal anything .
Ancient observers, wish to speak what they know,
But unable to reveal all the knowledge they hold.
The ocean hides its secrets, way down in its deep,
Not willing to reveal, all the knowledge it keeps.
It never will tell, keeps them locked safe in a coffer,
In the abyssal plains, within Davy Jones' Locker.
And I, well I continue to try and understand,
What it is they're saying, learn what I can.
Take whatever knowledge, they bestow on me,
Hoping one day, to know all their mysteries.
edit on 26-1-2016 by blend57 because: (no reason given)
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