so accustomed have the trees in the orchard grew
to my long, silent walks that they now realize i am not a clown
though that is the face i wear on the outside,
they knew because they saw the inside of me
and so they know i am not a clown.
with each step of those a-bit-painful, a-bit-peaceful walks,
the trees and the winds merged into one,
dancing on accord with my insides,
insides where waves of sadness slash the shore, all endured in the insides
insides where rays of hope glitter the world all day, all smiling in the insides,
insides where flames of good will burn the evil down, all the battles won and lost in the insides,
insides where visions encompass love beyond known realms, all the care caged in the insides.
with no words spelled,
no melodies heard,
people hardly know that my insides is one with nature, dancing,
wailing and weeping, smiling and hugging, hopeful and helpless,
the trees in the orchard grew accustomed to my long, silent walks.