The crown of a tree is a lung
For even the stately, majestic lords of the forest
Must breathe
The tender twigs the bronchioles
Bringing air to the alveoli of wood

And then that wondrous exchange
For as I exhaling give out
What most befits your needs
So do you
In your generosity
Leave for me the oxygen that gives me life

And though we cannot converse
Of our mutual understanding
And regard
There can be no doubt