The Ecstasy of Trees
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Staring out the window in February,
The trees are talking;
They are silhouettes against the sky,
Speaking a foreign tongue.
Yesterday a tree spoke to me. It said,
“The soul is an animal sloping
gently towards God”.
The ecstasy of trees,
The shelter:
It all comes back--
That day under the lone pine
of my youth.
The needles were a gentle touch
Against my cheek and palm.
The breeze was soft and compelling.
It was almost as if Wordsworth were there,
teaching.
In the wild mood of summer
The wild grapes were ripe,
And dew was as honey on the grass.
The air was full of water,
And rivers flowed like arteries of blood
Upon the land.
Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015
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