Touching this tall old tree
I wonder what feels real to me:
This church of cold stone
Where people go to show their religiosity,
Or this rough bark
Warm from the spring sun.
It is the bark
That calls to my heart
And this gentle sun.
Touching this tall old tree
I wonder what feels real to me:
This church of cold stone
Where people go to show their religiosity,
Or this rough bark
Warm from the spring sun.
It is the bark
That calls to my heart
And this gentle sun.
I touched a split tree
Which still stood
Reminding me
Of the Great North Wood.
I am of modernity.
Yet my heart
Is part
Of this old split tree.
There stands outside my window
Another tree
Here long before me
And when I go
Others seeing these 2 trees
May know they are part
Of nature’s great heart
And know continuity with me.