Trees

The trees are all whispering their ancient songs
Of the ancestors, as I gently glide below
Their umbrella canopy of assorted shades
Of green with a sundry of wooden spokes climbing

The pale brown leaves, silent beneath my soft steps
Medley of birdsong punctuate the raptor's scream
Chipmunks scuttle about, probing for seeds or bulbs
A Douglas squirrel emanates disgruntled barks

Within no time, I find the object of my trek
A surround of stones within a fairy circle
They outline a single gravesite, that of my own
Jade lilies of the valley grow within the square

Once, every spring, I return to this retreat
My invisible hands sweep at the aged rocks
Reclining nearby, remembering who I was
Smiling, at intended wisdom never gained


As eve approaches, I depart my special place
Slipping between the thick towers of life
Until I reach my grand home, the living call trees
I melt inside to sleep until the cycle's end

Within the sacred trees, we forever sleep

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008