A giant tree has memory,
And boughs that gently swing,
When blust'rous breeze blows from the sea,
Before the month of spring.
Its deeping root is resolute,
Beneath this genteel king,
And finds its home amongst the loam,
Beside a crystal spring.
The jaw of squirrels that jump from burls,
When sparrows gladly sing,
Are what a tall tree can recall,
From memory in its rings.
No swinging axe of lumberjacks,
Has caused it scrape of ding,
For of this tree all have agreed,
To let it be a king.
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Strangers
PoetrySometimes I think poems are like quiet strangers in the corner of the room waiting to be known. Only when time is taken to approach them is their richness revealed. Here you will find poems on nature, loss, hope, and the soul. Simple topics some mig...
