Something different for a change...
Hello, tree! It's me,
a brown leaf about to freefall down
to cloudy afterlife on heavenly ground.
Will you weep for me or I for you
or save our sorrow for moon-mourning dew?
Between us, your grief will certainly be greater
as we'll both see uncurtained a few dawns later
when your bark-naked body thaws on display.
Meanwhile, I'll hide by grumpy stones from hunting sun
and mimic chattering teeth and bones when forced to run;
listen to loose-lipped wind spin yarn-thick tales
then race to keep pace with quick-murmuring snails,
salting away storied mud puddles and twinkle-toed birds
and life-sprinkled magic sounds called songs--without words!
If by chance some crooning river, creek, stream
or classic-romantic springy moonbeam
should flint a spark in my wintry, wandering eye,
I'll return at Summer's first minty burn,
tell all the young green ones what I've seen and learned
and mean it when I say hello again, and goodbye.
Hello, Tree
- Jim Mathias
- Posts: 3320
- Joined: Mon Jun 13, 2016 8:48 pm
Re: Hello, Tree
An imaginative narration from the point of view of a leaf. From congoids, orientalids, and that money grubbing race whose perspective is of war on all life, I would expect this not at all.
Activism materials available! ===> Contact me via PM to obtain quantities of the "Send Them Back", "NA Health Warning #1 +#2+#3" stickers, and any fliers listed in the Alliance website's flier webpage.
- Will Williams
- Posts: 4434
- Joined: Sun Jul 28, 2013 9:22 am
Re: Hello, Tree
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as from thee
A poem as lovely as from thee
Ray W wrote: ↑Fri Sep 18, 2020 3:17 pmSomething different for a change...
Hello, tree! It's me,
a brown leaf about to freefall down
to cloudy afterlife on heavenly ground.
Will you weep for me or I for you
or save our sorrow for moon-mourning dew?
Between us, your grief will certainly be greater
as we'll both see uncurtained a few dawns later
when your bark-naked body thaws on display.
Meanwhile, I'll hide by grumpy stones from hunting sun
and mimic chattering teeth and bones when forced to run;
listen to loose-lipped wind spin yarn-thick tales
then race to keep pace with quick-murmuring snails,
salting away storied mud puddles and twinkle-toed birds
and life-sprinkled magic sounds called songs--without words!
If by chance some crooning river, creek, stream
or classic-romantic springy moonbeam
should flint a spark in my wintry, wandering eye,
I'll return at Summer's first minty burn,
tell all the young green ones what I've seen and learned
and mean it when I say hello again, and goodbye.
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