The Trees

Oh mighty trees, with arms outspread, You hold the secrets of the dead, With roots that grasp the earth below, And branches reach where few can go.

Each leaf a breath of history, Each ring a tale of mystery, In springtime dress, you bloom anew, With autumn’s fire, your beauty too.

Stand tall, ye guardians of the land, In your shadows, I understand, Life’s cycle spins, the seasons merge, In nature’s dance, we all converge.

• John Muir