The thickets twist while winds wind

Are the trees born

To love the wind?

Do they remember,

The first words She whispered

That carried unto them the strength to

Leap forth from their own mothers’ grasp –

Leave now and together,

We can be free

Or do they learn their arboreous ardor,

From the continued caresses

She berates them with

Ceaselessly until their boughs bow

To her whims?

Having watched the two entwined,

On a perfectly peaceful summer morn,

I cannot tell

Where Her hand ends

And where the timber’s yearning begins,

Swaying in tune to a call

I can all but hear.

Surely, this love was born in the roots

Of forests far away,

In both time and place,

Before the seedling was an inkling

To us who are lucky enough to bear witness to,

Affection too pure to be anything,

But dumb luck leading the lover to the loved.

 

 

 

 

 

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