Tree
To me
In contemplative mind
There is nothing more beautiful
Than a naked tree.
Stripped to bare grace
Twisted and gnarled
Broken and bent
Dark scribbles on the sky
Stretching
Lifting
Fighting upward - outward
The merest twig pulsing
For light -
And the Universe.
Still
Clutching with hungry roots
And thirsty throats
The thick muck
Of Earth.
Trees talk. They talk.
Listen.
They know strange things.
No flight of human fancy
Comes near to equating a tree
Call it what you will.
I think
I am much like a tree.
And I'm not scared.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
March, 2018
terry l shuff
Mon 30th Apr 2018 23:53
Cynthia, I certainly appreciate your love of Trees. Your description is delightful, and I can hear Trees also. Many Trees are Hundreds and even Thousands of years old. They are living records of history. Terry.