Humility Before A Tree 

I am not the jagged pine 

who weeps aloud at span of time 

And condones the needled hush 

at breeze 

which forsees repeat 

of thought of these the clockless 

soil and sky and creek of bend 

in life subside. 

Until the winded track of plight 

all renders still 

the dark of night 

til morning dew of diamond orbs 

plead clear blood on greenthin sword 

in royal chartreuse and sprucy blue, tightangled scotch 

and norway true 

And bark so smooth of sleek white pines 

with needle tufts like gentle brush 

caress the face with needle feel, 

aroma scent of cedar teal 

While cones dot still brown blanket ground like late dusk stars fix silent sound.....