Forest
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In the mists of the giant bark beneath
rise old growth saplings out of crag and earth,
where tumbles an ancient evergreen leaf
from that marvel of great and splendid girth.
That footing seed, that pod, that budding shoot
to spread its shedding crown in fulsome yield,
when ringed trunk buttressed by conifer root
in furrowed skin wraps its tubular shield.
High on sky perch over forest thickets
the sylvan canopy the clouds do climb -
to fell, to log, to mill into pickets
and trusses tempers not this heart of mine.
It does me good (those sap bathed arms bended)
to see your mighty scaffold extended.
Written: May 1992
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2024
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