|
For ancient trees weeping once a year
Old, dried-out tears that congregate in dreams,
Roots cracking stones, branches thick as tropes,
Threatening roofs and power lines and bones;
Yet these remain our spirits' dearest homes,
Their silence irrefutable as popes,
Wild serenities, hushing all our schemes:
One's life must be more than pride and lust and fear.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
