Andrew David Dalby (17th Of March 1967 / Brighton East Sussex United kingdom)
The song of Trees
I pause to ponder on these changes,
And face this bitter winter chill.
that clamps on me like lime greased pages,
and longs to twist and turn me still.
Yet, to see these tree trunks grinding,
as they turn about on windswept days;
They seems to me to long reach out,
Then embrace me like a crinkled sage.
I close my eyes and see them shine;
then pull their tendrils from the earth.
to then watch them slowly start to smile;
and wrap around each other's girth.
And as they walk slowly together,
a single part, yet still complete;
I see them gathered free from tethers;
yet still need others of itself to greet.
Their single parts are of the whole,
As they gather for a sweet chorale;
in colours of the dawning times,
That echoes of a beautiful madrigal.
From pale citrus to the budding flower,
that remind me of my innocence;
and times now red with rusting roots;
that bring fears of inner subsidence.
So are these golden fiery tears,
to be shelled now on the floor;
Just whispered hints of ecstatic stints;
spent knocking on my autumn door?
No... for now I am not afraid to face it;
For I see change as the eternal plan,
that brings forth life, to all things living,
and proves that death is just a sham.
For Autumn is a part of a circle,
and not just a terminal line;
and we are a part of this cycle,
on this universal palace, divine.
Now to some our home might seem small,
and perhaps tired and a little drab;
But its up to us to keep it special,
because it's our home and all we have.
So let's sing the song of trees together,
and understand their precious song;
otherwise we have a house of lies,
and of cold and ruthless oppression.
It's up to us to make the changes,
To fight and hold to what is true;
And sing the song of Trees together,
to thus finally defeat the wormwood crew.
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