tales for dreamers: do you know your own name?

What are you called, you beautiful tree?

What name did they give you?

What label did they affix to you, so they could go back home and brag to the rest of the world about their discovery?

Did they name you after themselves? Knowing you’d outlast them all?

As if only in their finding of you, your presence was established.

As if without their discovery, you would have remained nonexistent.

Something tells me you’d have preferred it that way.

To remain unnamed.

To remain unsullied by human words.