Of all the things soon to be extinct, this tree,
This kind of tree, was not likely among them, but
Every likelihood, no matter how dim, implied
Inevitable possibilities to us. In a way, we envied
Those humans of earlier songs and days
Who could look around them at all the change
And say—this forest, these mountains, this sun
Are all forever things, even as we and the leaves
Die away. We would never say such things today.
We could barely bring ourselves to dare today.
Nonetheless, the old tree was admirable to us.
Tiny cones like greyish blueberries littering
The ground around it. Life. Life itself was the one
Who broke the rules of exhaustion. Life itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment