Whistling Trees,
I hear them rustling,
Whistling Trees,
Leaves always bustling,
Yearning for the day when they will flee, Oh from there wood fastenings,
They'll float in the air, Oh as freely as can be,
Riding on a winter breeze,
The tree left to stand bare without leaves, and oh so lonely,
Left forgotten, never to be free,
Still as a statue, oak not stone,
Trying to see if he can still whistle, but sadly,
I must say,
he is still alone,
Singing a silent song, in a silent tone,
So,
Ode to the once whistling tree,
For the day will come when your honor will find you again and so will your leaves,
But for now, you'll stand bear,
And so for now,
Ode to the once whistling tree.
