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In the winter do they not scream?
Scream as the wind beats them,
the frost freezes their souls
while the snows hide their pain.
Do they not clash their naked arms in despair?
In spring do they not sing in gladness?
Sing, as laughing breezes tease their young leaves,
and the sun smiles upon their reaching fingers
while soft rains nourish their roots .
Do they not rejoice in their renewal?
In summer do they not doze in the sun?
Doze through the long afternoons
when the heat shimmers upon their crowns
and they joyously gather bees to their blossoms.
Do they not sigh in the gentle cool of midnight?
In autumn do they not breathe upon the wind?
Gold and copper, they cast burnished carpets
sighing showers of hearts-wood glory,
try catching a tint for luck.
Do you listen to the tales trees tell?
