the secret knowledge of trees

( a Quatern )


I often talk to God beneath the trees
When I go walking through the park alone.
And from the scatter’d sentinels, a breeze,
I stand among and feel that I belong.

He’s like a creature of the night each time
I often talk to God beneath the trees.
In dappl’d glow of moonlight’s subtle climb,
As tree-limb shadows help put me at ease.

The roots, the underground with all the keys;
A trunk is earth, the branches heaven’s own.
I often talk to God beneath the trees
That always have a way to guide me home.

To meditate, enlightenment they share.
As long as I have guardians like these,
Who channel all my secrets when I’m where
I often talk to God beneath the trees.

 
Away from the home a little girl roamed farther and farther she strayed.
Then in a rush she went deep in the brush until hopelessly losing her way.
Fighting her fear till shedding a tear she pondered a horrible fate.
She sat on the ground while looking around as it grew terribly late.
Among the timbering oak one gently spoke to the trembling child.
“Please have no fear, you’ll be safe with us here, sheltered from the wild.”
Shocked and surprised she doubted her eyes and her betraying ears.
Then one by one more trees joined in the fun to calm the little girls fears.
As it became dark glow bugs clung to the bark frogs and crickets started to sing.
Under the moon shine the trees kept perfect time with every windy branch swing.
She did not hesitate as she hungrily ate ripe nuts and sweet juicy fruit.
She no longer could keep away the urge to sleep she lay down on a soft root.
In the morning sunshine she woke feeling fine covered in a blanket of leaves.
Not wishing to go she let them all know she wanted to be among the tall trees.
She had no one to love and no friends to speak of, “please?” She beggingly prayed.
Twas an orphan they had so helpless and sad and just a little afraid.
“Are you willing to change no matter how strange?” Came a thundering voice.
“Think well sweet heart for the most difficult part shall involve your freedom of choice.”
She thought hard and long and knew here she belonged asking once again please.
She well understood to be a child of wood she needed to learn from the trees.
How quickly she’d hide far deep inside till she was like the tree’s ghost.
As time marked hidden rings she wished for nothing here she wanted the most.
If ever you are traveling in the woods far and you sense an unnatural stare.
What ever you feel may truly be real for close may be the dryad’s wood lair.
 

 
A young sapling asked of a near by tree,
“What was it the first seedlings saw?”
“Before they were the forest rulers,
Before they grew so mighty and tall.”
The young tree was aware that the oaken giant
Lived not in that time long ago.
His rings of age gave no hint or clue,
This only the stones could know.
More fable than truth the story was told,
Carried on the winds whispering breeze.
Told and retold while coloring the facts,
Reciting the tale from tree to tree.
“In those young years, the new world was,
As pure as a child’s dream.
The billowing clouds filled a bluer sky,
Earth and air was fresh and clean.
Dancing among the green leafy sprigs,
And making the new woods there home.
Were winged children, who nurtured the new,
Till all had fully grown.”
The tiny tree then asked, “Where had they gone?”
“I’ve never seen such things.”
“How wonderful to have such woodland care takers,
These children adorned with wings.”
Sadly the old tree shook his branches
As he told the tales final part.
“They passed to beyond,” he said with shedding leaves
Brought on by a heavy heart.
“Curiosity took hold within there wild spirit
One by one each went away.”
“Was it better ware they went?” The tiny tree asked,
“Is that why they didn’t stay?”
The giant then said, “Their fate was sealed
For they were innocent right to the core.”
“When they learned of the world, there innocence was gone,
And they too for ever more.”
On the path to maturity some things are gained
While others as important are lost.
Be careful what you trade, for that which you seek,
May not be it’s final cost.