They rested with their backs
against the fire, they rested on stones

               rich with marble veins, blue
               of sepia, sky-lit they rested
               of their travels.

Where were they? The forest
was a blooming, ripe enough
                     to answer,
 They had come to listen
       to their own arrival.

Listen now, yet, listen.

You have come here,
so say the trees.

And they are quiet, with eyes
   almost closed, dreaming so
          the trees would not fall