Tree poem

All That Time
by May Stevenson


I saw two trees embracing.
One leaned on the other
as if to throw her down
But she was the upright one.
Since their twin youth, maybe she
had been pulling him toward her
all that time.

and finally almost uprooted him.
He was the thin, dry, insecure one,
the most wind-warped, you could see.
And where their tops tangled
it looked like he was crying
on her shoulder.
On the other hand, maybe he

had been trying to weaken her,
break her, or at least
make her bend
over backwards for him
just a little bit.
And all that time
she was standing up to him

the best she could.
She was the stubborn,
the straightest one, that's a fact.
But he had been willing
to change himself-
even if it was for the worse-
all that time.

At the top they looked like one
tree, where they were embracing.
It was plain they'd be
always together.

Too late now to part.
When the wind blew, you could hear
them rubbing on each other.

Taken from Good Poems for Hard Times by Garrison Keillor

Lonesome Whippoorwill

Whippoorwill

I wake to the sound
Whippoorwill

Achingly lonely
Whippoorwill

Calling at midnight
Whippoorwill

I join his vigil
Whippoorwill

But none comes, to be
Whippoorwill

With him or with me
Whippoorwill

It is too soon.

Whippoorwill

Whippoorwill

Whippoorwill

Susurrant Trees

The trees whisper of spring’s approach
While small birds sit amidst the conversation
Cocking their heads this way and that.
Listening.
Listening
To the creak of old wood
And the faint stirring of new life
Drawn from icy spring rain
And softened soil.

The birds are impatiently interrupting
The tentative susurration of the trees
With twitters and joyous song
Singing.
Singing
With the sway of branches
In bracing winds.
For they too have heard it in the air
And seen it in the strengthening light.

But the trees pay them no heed
For they are tenderly exploring
Winter’s shearing with tentative pulses
Flexing.
Flexing
Winter’s frozen toes in warm patches of sunlight.
And contemplating swollen buds for yet another season
of light and leaf and dancing shadows.

Early Spring Sunrise

As the creeping dawn paled the inky blackness
to shades of gray;
from the east slivers of pale yellow
created Scherenschnitte of the bare trees.
The sun strengthened to light the long layers
of clouds with peach, orange, fuchsia.
High above in the bright pink sky
a river of birds flowed north.
Some still strong after a long night’s flight,
others straggled to keep up.
Rest was just beyond the horizon.

More used to appreciating sunset than sunrise, the drive to work was an unaccustomed pleasure.

Golden leaf

A Live Oak Leaf

How marvelous this bit of green
I hold, and soon shall throw away!
Its subtle veins, its vivid sheen,
Seem fragments of a god's array.

In all the hidden toil of earth,
Which is the more laborious part-
To rear the oak's enormous girth,
Or shape its leaves with poignant art?

Clark Ashton Smith