The Conductor

An old man sat in the middle of the woods
On a giant overgrowth of olden times.
There he was nourishing the forest
With tears that fell from his eyes.

The forest heard the rhythm of his tears.
Though the tone was sorrowful and melancholic
It was, nonetheless, refreshing and nostalgic.

Birds, avian and fowl
Went near to sing with the song.
While the wind clapped and shouted for an encore.

At last the man stopped
And finally the sky gave way,
For it was her turn to give compliment
With rose and bouquet made of rain.

The man stood and walked out of the forest
As the trees with their leaves, branches and twigs
Sought for an autograph, an audience
Or, at least, touch the man for all his worth.

Sadly, he was ignorant of the patrons
Nor was he aware of the concert that have happened.
Tragic, still, the forest never knew where he went,
And, most unfortunate, the man never knew his worth.