William Messent

There is a sadness in the Birch
In Autumn with the fall of leaves.
So silently, so no one hears
She sheds her golden tears.

There is a steadfastness in Oak,
It spreads its giant lofty limbs
In widening arcs for all to see;
A venerable mighty tree.

There is a softness in the Larch
Its feathery leaves cascading down
In waterfalls towards the ground;
Small fir-cones scattered all around.

There is a proudness in the Plane.
This city dweller stands aloof,
Cheats pollution with pealing bark
In roadside verge or formal park.

There is a beauty in the Beech;
It has the greenest leaves in Spring,
So small and delicate and bright,
Unfurling in the early light.

Eternal hope is in the Yew
Immortal in the cemetery,
Transcending death, it speaks of life
For souls who leave this world of strife.