Trees imitation by Nicholas Ingalls
Standing with arms up to the sky apart
From his army, a tree, the captain outIn front. Still as night but limber as day
He is at the winds command the river
Of air that gives him life, and makes him dance.
The long needle filled arms, emerald green
With electric tips, the years new growth
Not yet stained dark by the ticking clock nor
The burning sun that pounds day in and out.
The branches always outstretched to heaven,
Each year they get closer, and further away.
The longer the branches get, closer to
Their goal they go, higher and higher, and
Yet only to reach their peak, as they droop
From years of their heavy load and their long
Cracks in their bark, the wrinkled faces up
Their trunks, they now frown forever, waiting,
Growing tall and old, their longevity
Outweighing their body, but not their spirit,
arms forever outstretched to the heavens.
Pouring down from the ever watchful stars
That blanket the nights, tears that stream down the
Scarred faces of the trees, each drop picking
Its own winding path, pooling in the bowl
Crevice at the trunks’ bases. Seeping through
The ground to be absorbed into the trees,
Giving them life, spirit of the gods, a gift
To be cherished, the trees giving thanks still
With their tireless outstretched arms, always
Thankful, ever remembering their gift.
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Trees
By Joyce Kilmer 1886–1918 Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
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