Green, green--
	All around me burn the trees.
	Grass flows and ripples
	In the wind of Life,
	Emerald fire that
	Consumes the earth Utterly
	But without malice.
	These plants do not live to die
	As do unthinking men,
	Nor do they curl and kiss
	To vainly increase their kind.
	No!  Purpose in them
	Is innate, inviolable,
	Linked forever with the currents
	Of flame which send them forth.
	They do, they accomplish,
	They live to live again
	Truly immortal,
	Blazing endlessly as a beacon
	For mortals to follow
	If only they would.


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