The beaming forest

The beaming forest
I walk into the timber,
To hear the whispers of shatter,
It is the enthusiasms of the sunflower,
It is a sentimental singer,
Using aesthetic words to describe the quarter in the timber,
The sun is like a painter,
Painting the timber in colour,
I pick up a shatter,
I’ll collect it and put it on my shelter,
It is a Metempsychosis of the shatter,
Just a quarter passes…