Portrait of a Huon Pine
The children run around me now,
ancient, immovable, ravaged by time
They can count the winter's dark notes,
spun centripetally round, by the glacial force
of the wind
And here's the line of beauty, through
my barked love, a thread, from the knot
heart at my centre, spooling out,
where the moss fed, and dew gathered in
pools innumerable
In death now, you may view me,
segmented, displayed with informative cards,
describing time in ways too abstract,
for beings, gone, such as we
You can follow my map out of the cold,
spread flat over centuries,
older than old, or anything,
in your time,
Nothing offends me now, I am felled,
and my last act of contrition is deemed to be
here, displayed;
and I've worn out this rubbed coat,
time and again, year on year,
you'll find me in the place they call,
"Natural History",
where the children who run around
and around, are gone, until, I am unhooded
for all to see, next year.
Comments
Hi Chris
I think the word "now" is placed in the wrong spot in the first line. It somehow made me think the children were the ones ravaged by time lol. Hmmm... maybe "Now children run around me"? But the poem is good and initiates interest in those old trees. Here in the states the Red Woods get the most attention in their towering groves. But it's the humble twisted bristle cone pines which were alive before Christ walked the earth..............stan