The Song of the Trees

Oh stand beneath the ancient trees,
And listen to the whispers low,
For every knotted gnarled limb sees
The stories the wind longs to show.

In growing shadows, dusk unrolls,
Like blessings from the leader’s right;
The trees’ deep roots within the souls,
Reach hearts ‘neath branches enthroned bright.

Each whisper echoes nature’s song,
A tribe of the quiet and come—
By sweet persuasion to whom we belong,
Tree mouths open in sacred hum.

• Coventry Patmore