Down in the valley of hollow logs two lovers lay in the weeds wrapped in the net of their sweaty arms safe from the wind in the trees. "My love," said the boy. "You're the clear blue sky, you're the air I gulp to breathe. I feel you rushing through my veins like the wind rushing through the trees." "My love," said the girl, "You're my secret pearl. You're a string of tiny glass beads. You're a burning star I keep in a jar safe from the wind in the trees." Down in the valley of hollow logs two lovers lay back in the weeds listening to the howl of hunting dogs and the wind howling through the trees. Then insects ran for the underbrush as the wind filled the air with dead leaves and every stone moved closer to dust as the wind tore through the trees. So the young girl pierced her lily-white breast. Her blood poured over dark weeds. A silver dagger through her burning heart, cold as the wind in the trees. So the boy picked up that b***** knife and stove it through his chest. "Farewell, farewell to the wind and the trees. I'll die with the one I love best."