Smiles across the table
felt different,
more lines to count
between the ripples in the bark.
They had once grown tall
reaching for the sun,
realising it was not heat they were after
but warmth.
One found low down on the Forrest floor
where leaves had 
began to wither and
yellow.
Light breaking
through the canopy,
beams more beautiful
to acknowledge
than the walls of light above.
Their smiles would speak of stories
most of which were the
ones they told before,
more and more unaware
that the remaining few that were so much
harder to share.
Their walls like the canopy
would grow thick and dense,
blocking out the light that was
always there.
From then on we let the beams through
and warmth with it,
allowing that which lay down below
the best chance to grow.