If a tree falls in the forest and....a poem

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The Woods The tree falls and the forest weeps. The wind carries its cries to far off lands. The ocean heats, and waves back. The surf rides its own tears to distant shores. The mountain, strong and stoic, moves not, but casts its mournful silhouette upon the ground. The sun, rendered invisible, sulks all the more behind a cloud even as its very light bestows today. The cloud, once puffy and white and sparse, grays and grows - it, too, begins to sob, bathing all below in empathy. And then - then a seed drinks. Does it conceive of thought or merely root itself preparing for tomorrow's light? It opens all the more, sensing and drinking and growing - spreading as if exploring, curious, it branches out and downward. The sobbing withers by and by, and mourning yields to morning. A dutiful sunrise appears and brightens. As a new day beckons one and all to attention, the newest sprout appears, and bids hello.