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Maybe it is the way the trees are strewn
Across the hill, like casual travellers
Cut by alien winds and levellers -
Painting with their presence an arcane rune
Of pain at the dirt around them, left by
The human desire to plunder; perhaps
It is the idea that but for a lapse
Of ancestral judgment this wood could lie
In a civilisation at peace with
Itself manoeuvring with brilliant brains
Across myriad cerebral terrains
Making sure all things have a place to live -
Maybe its just the autumn leaves with seem
To be lost pages in a book I've dreamed.
from The Beech Tree Sonnets 1999
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| Posted: 5.7.2008 at 14:02 | Read 79 times | 0 comments | Leave Comment |
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