The trees they hold the essence of the soul,
the soil, the earth, the fire in the sky.
They are the wellspring of a great unknown,
the joy of birth and the truth of all that dies.
From every passing grief they spread their leaves
and give each tiny death back to the soil.
They are the truth that toils and loves and grieves.
They are the life of each and every spoil.
What brought them here? Why do they bring us rest?
Why do they sink their roots into the earth?
From flesh that's cursed to branches that are blessed
they sing of joyful death and joyless birth.
It's not the first time I have asked them why.
I still don't know. The trees will not reply.
June 7, 2014
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