A Poem by Coyote Poetry
I had a tree poem in my head for weeks. I hope it is worthwhile to read.
But only God can make a tree.
It is not growing like a tree
in bulk, doth make Man better be;
or standing long an oak three hundred year,
to fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
A lily of a day
is fairer in May,
although it fall and die that night-
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see:
and in short measures life may perfect be.
I sat and watched the willow tree dancing in the wind.
I have stood with the ancient trees.
The old trees standing large and old monuments of the past.
What knowledge a tree could tell, if it could speak.
God honored us with the gift of the trees.
The trees are alive and they reach for sky and heaven.
They know where God is waiting.
Trees give us protection from the hot sun and
give us fresh and tasty fruit to refresh our body.
The gift of oxygen allowed man to survive without struggle.
Even in the cold of Winter.
The trees stand tall and bare.
Still reaching out and resting.
The coming Spring will revive the beauty of the new green leaves and life.
I stood in the desert with soldiers.
My friends from Virginia told me.
I missed the trees. Those trees of home is where I need to be.
Nothing better than the great forest. I want to walk the old path and stay all day
in the palm of nature. This desert make me tire.
Many poems for the tree.
Trees are the gift of beauty.
The trees, the flowers and the running river.
Domain of utopia for the wise.
Old men dreams of the great forest when youth was his advantage and
wildflowers growing wild made us know. We are not caged. We can be like the wildflowers. Growing freely and wild. Man need to be like a tree.
Raise his hands to the sky. Thanking the spirit of life and death,
for one more day to rejoice in life and song. Dance like the willow tree,
Free and untamed.
The trees are teachers. We must listen.