Psithurism

(The Winds in Trees)

old trees never seem to care
about how they appear
or what they once spoke
they just bear enduring fruit
powered by timeless beauty
while they patiently achieve
their gentle enlightenment
spilling its emerald erudition
over our drained spirits
yet despite their silhouette
or trunks of tangled stature
their old branches hold up—
cradling woven nests of life
as safe refuges for any brood
or spent wings of dire respite
their quaking leaves drink energy
and filter the heat from our day
I wish I had absorbed this light
when my roots were still young
and spent more time listening
to the calm whispering winds
of God’s voice singing in trees