The Tree
it stands
unmoved
by birds
of feather
that land
haphazard
on its limb
resting ever
in its arms
singing sweetly
to the day
for the tree
has been there
before
beautiful birds
cannot be caged
they go whence the wind
beyond the borders of the forest
a million moons away
they wing
far from buried roots
and blades
some come back
someday
others never do
the tree understands
that
like the spider
that climbs its grooves
looking to spin
or the butterfly that breezes by
leaving its cocoon
or the mother bird
her nest of cracked shells
those are ornamental things
ordinary in nature
it stands
a thousand years
more
to feel the print
of a wayward child
that looks up, up, up
amazed
and all the loss
of lesser things
matter not
to the tree
for it knows
not even the slant of rain
can remove
a child’s handprint
from its heart
TL