Once, a thought flew by like a bird,
and it whispered secrets to the trees.
Somewhere, long ago, a fossil
held hands with a cloud,
and they danced across the sky.
Fossils of thoughts are like
crayons in a forgotten box,
waiting to be discovered.
The river found a pebble
and remembered it was once
part of the sea's laughter.
If you ever hear the wind singing,
stop and listen,
it's the voice of the past.