Another untitled

And also original...you know the deal.

I've heard tales of the melodies
Your long-forgotten voice would sing
To thrill the sharp beams of the sun
And please the bright stars one by one.
You voiced a song that shaped the world--
The waves rose up, the flowers unfurled--
And as you gave the music worth,
You touched the people of the earth.
As sweet words rose to the above,
You compelled them all to love.
You spoke of strength, you made them bold,
Refining dross to find pure gold.
And yet we have neglected to
Preserve what you had hoped we'd do--
We turn away to our own cares
And dross returns; we're unaware.
Oh, that one might your lyrics find,
To shape their soul and fill their mind,
To take up once again your song
That lies unsung so very long.
Oh, sing your song again to me
Past edges of eternity,
And if I can but catch the tune,
I shall sing it back to you.

The poem about the tree...

Another original; please respect that. :)

A sapling planted in the ground
Far below my windowpane,
Kissed by sun,
Nurtured by rain,
But a seed, had just begun
As many years into the past
As mark the time since I had come
To make my home within this house.

From my roost in high-up room,
I did not see the progress made
As seed took root
And grew in shade.
A child was I, and growing too,
And slowly changing as children do—
So it did not catch my eye,
The little tree that taller grew
As seasons passed and years did too;
Nor could the tree that swayed in breeze
Know that behind the window lay
An ever-spreading girl at play,
A girl that I have known as me.

We grew to meet the ways of life,
The forms of sun and rain,
Its of driving wind, cool breeze,
Mine of loss and gain;
And though we each stayed unaware
To the other’s being,
Our trials and triumphs,
One might find,
Were allied under one vast sky,
As tree bent low and child cried,
As joy took root and green leaves thrived,
While we remained unseeing.

Closer now to where we are,
Time found the sapling taller still,
And once heard I in hush of night
Branch tapping at my windowsill.
At curtains drawn, my eyes did see
A tree had grown right up to me,
Had stretched and strained
To touch the sky,
Much in the same way as had I;
And only now were we introduced,
Though it was as I deduced:
We were always as remote,
Or rather, close, as now it seemed
One stroke of time had closeness deemed—
In truth, so was divine plan wrote.

And as dawn comes to grace this day,
It can be seen that we grow still,
One tapping tree,
One girl at sill,
Now rising in a novel way,
As our worlds invade each other
And are shaped into another.
As branches spread, we know not how,
Or why, or when—nor should we now—
To distinguish between tree and house;
Neither is it in our power,
In such a day,
At such an hour,
To tell you which is flesh, which wood,
As tree extends arms without end
And girl to greater height ascends.
She ventures now, as so she should,
Into net of branch and leaf,
While into room it goes more deep,
That once-small sapling of a tree—
I with it and it with me.