He stands,
An ancient trunk,
Rooted deep in earth--
And we,
A thousand new, thin leaves,
Are held a-tremble
On his rigid boughs.
New, thin leaves,
Moving to the lilt of little winds!
We are fastened
By a thousand stems.
Wind!
Hurl us into swiftness,
Leaving stripped and dry
This rigid trunk
Where we now cling.
