The Love of Trees
Trees are content, without questioning their purpose.
They love the ground beneath them
And spread their roots deep into the receiving soil.
They stretch their arms wide
In loving welcome to the open sky.
They turn to the sun,
Growing towards the light.
With you, I love like a tree:
Facing the light, I grow towards you.
Arms wide open I welcome you.
Deeply rooted I rest in you.
©jsmorgane Aug 2018
On a day I chanced to sit
Under Hornbeam in my mitts,
Looking out across the vale,
Sheltering from the howling gale,
Tightly wrapped in scarf and cloak,
Listening to English Oak
Who was humming merrily.
Hornbeam said: ‘Does that a lot,
I fear he might have lost the plot.’
Me (in Tree):
‘But don’t I hear a tuneless,
Yet somehow catching sound,
Rasping, crashing noises,
Swishing whispers, cymbals, gong?’
A strange duet it was,
As storm and tree began
To tell of holding close and letting go,
Their voices joined in song.
English Oak made our day,
Deftly managed to allay,
To befriend the fearsome gale
Who presently began to play
Tag up there in the branches
Leading Dragon merry dances,
Who by then had left his home
Under Hornbeam’s root,
Having, frankly, quite a hoot
Chasing wayward waftings.
English Oak shook with laughter:
‘Oh it tickles! How delightful.’
Hornbeam (to me):
‘Now, what do you say to that?
I think we are duty-bound to add
Singing Wind to our odd
Language catalogue.’
©jsmorgane
The acorn like an egg sets free the will to grow,
And they uncurl their branching wings,
Spreading wide, fulfilling their being a moment at a time.
They inhabit the deep yet reach for the light up high,
And bark-like scales are gleaming armour
To guard the great spirit of wisdom within.
But then one night the earth is so relaxed, the skies so wilful
That in the midst of dark they bow their crown and slowly,
Bending downwards with a sigh, the great beasts fall
Making the grounds tremble when with a crash
The creatures, accepting, let go of all strife.
When morning comes wearily, grey and burdened,
The rain finds the limbs splayed like bones splintered,
And the drops running down the creatures’ arched back
Are like tears mourning a greater destiny that
Has so found its end.
©jsmorgane (Feb 2014)
