An idea that has gone unseized,
Is a forest without any trees,
It exists as a ghost,
With no one to host,
Lost like a breath to the breeze,
An idea that rests in the hand,
Is a seed to be sown in the land,
As a sprout it will grow,
With a spark melting snow,
Shone brightly from your lantern of gold,
Soon trees will dawn,
Bark thick and of brawn,
A forest built to be old