While they sleep the seasons turn.
The leaves burst green then burn gold
and fall to crisp upon the ground.
The sun sings of how she yearns
to sleep in the dusky hours
when damp night mists
swallow all sound.

While they sleep men tread upon
the worn pathways along the plated spines,
weaving tales of what has gone,
piping tunes of what has been,
and what will be -
The cadences rise and fall
and drift between the scales and shifting seams;
melodies for sleeping giants\' dreams.