The Trees Do Grow

on returning from a walk

The trees are sentient, ancient, and patient.
The winded wheeze blows a skeletal breeze,
Onto the twigs, branches and leaves.

Walk off the path into the foliage below
The trees do grow,
The trees do grow.
A sapling bursts through the snow,
The trees do grow.

The rough spun skin of birch trunks worn thin,
Thicken and glow in the sun rising slow,
The trees do grow,
The trees do grow.

If you stand there long and wait,
Under all your weight,
You might grow tall and great.
To join in the breeze,
Among those ancient, sentient trees.  

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A beautiful poem for the trees. I have seen the ancient forest. They do speak to us with their beauty and reaching for God. No weakness in the excellent poetry.
Coyote