The giant floating gods of dawn gather
In swiftly under the midday moon, 
Distant mountains disappear into shadow. 
Sunlight catches through breaks in clouds 
Falling lightly on shadowed patches.
The constant breeze blows soft and cool 
Which stirs the world in the late day noon. 
The flesh-born, age-proof Morten Bay fig stands 
A testament against time and man 
Split and wracked the tall trunk rests on wide feet 
While searching fingers reach to feel the breeze 
Which gently moves the dark green leaves.