— Kahlil Gibran
Boils in maples
trees rock
As boats moored;
The gale
In solemn exultation
Mimics
The tide’s thundrous roar.
Nights outside my window
I hear a waterfall,
Mourning doves'
Soft cooing,
A sad train's
Distant call.
I can sleep
With rain
Lulled by its soft,
Steady tread,
But the sound
Trees make
Paints poems
Inside my head.