A coliseum of trees looms regal and imposing,
Their give to slip within a breeze,
Their hands to hold each strand of fire,
Gold-laced and burdening the air,
Their sterness overleans into tranquility,
Bastions on the hills come watchmen of a gentry garden pool.

Thrown upon the waves to the pulsing sun,
Adrift afar and I am where I once was not,
The wind marches over dunes of water beside,
Falling like sand figures returning to the dust,
Force and valor take upon my ears like gloves,
But slip and scatter beneath the waves again.

You saw me there within my mother's womb,
Crocheted and fastened strong by grace,
So fearfully the symmetry,
Intent you bore on every pore,
And now He holds me tall my breath no mercy small.