The Memory
of Trees
Along
the lane,
and beyond
the curve
of the rising
hill,
our trees knot
and whisper,
their leaves
arching high
overhead,
their branches
sway,
the wind,
soothes
trembles,
and wanders,
between sky,
cloud
and
sea,
and along
that beach,
beyond the crest
of the last edge,
the last curve
of tides,
and a distant
shore,
we walk
and remember,
for the time
we thought
was
in front
of us,
for we never
listened
to our footsteps,
and what
had passed
before.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
