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Speaking of Trees
For the tree of the field is man's life. Deuteronomy 20:19
I'm here with some sugar maples, speaking of trees, And they're not saying much. In spite of all The rumors of persistent whispering, They do not mention genealogies, Wisdom with all its branches nor the Fall, As if they wouldn't stand for anything.
We've made them our field representatives, Rooted in history but branching out, Replete with trunks, limbs, crowns and sappy hearts, Sowing their seeds in time, shedding their leaves In the very autumn Shakespeare writes about, As if they were our natural counterparts.
They simply do not care, nor break their silence On our blossoming conceit. And while I hug Myself against the cool and breezy plain As the brow of a storm is darkening with violence, Look how the sugar maples seem to shrug, Turning their palmate leaves to catch the rain.
Greg Williamson
From The Silent Partner, Story Line Press, ©
1994. Reprinted by permission of the author |
