Treewhispers
By Charles van Sandwyk
Mystery
In the wooded hill
Branches smooth, the stars are
still
And so begin the rites of old;
Leaf by leaf the tales unfold,
Carpeting the scripted floor
The woods are filled
With ancient lore.
I long for treescapes deep and
wide
Quiet sentries, side by side
Bending bough and creaking limb,
Rustling when the light is dim.
Movement
On the wooded hill
Turn to look, then all is still.
Do you hear, beneath the bark,
Whispers…
As it’s growing dark?
Tendril fingers in the ground
Under tussock, over mound.
Roots hold dear the bosom earth
Roots to feed the mighty girth.
It’s not the might which awe
inspires,
Nor the scars of distant fires
Nay~ trees take root, by God’s
good Grace,
That they may hold
The world in place.