Clouds and leaves float on mountain air.
Gurgling streams pass and indent on the gray floor.
Trees hum strange inhuman tunes within the breeze
while animals listen and understand.

The clouds shape is only a figment of the imagination;
it's the child feature we'll always own.
The leaves crinkle, as they fall toward their brothers, but are swept
away before they touch the ground.

The bubbling streams swallow stones and debris
and noisily smooths the ground beneath it.
As time goes on it'll leave its mark to prove it had been there
whether people know or not.

Trees speak with the wind, leaves brushing against another,
like a harmonica played by experts.
Though the sounds are calming, we don't understand the melodies
that others can and do.

While animals listen and understand
to the trees' strange inhuman tunes within the breeze,
gurgling streams pass and indent on the gray floor
before clouds and leaves that float on mountain air.