FOREST MAKER

The gentle dark embraces me
in cool dense southern air
as winter finally starts to flee.
A lone hound sadly bays somewhere.

I make plans in the deep of night.
The coming day I shall be tractor bound
making the acreage just right
clearing weed and brush choked ground.

For the seedlings of a new forest
arrive in just a few more days.
Until then there will be little rest
for this man with hair of white and grays.

I'll start it off with tiny pines
eight feet apart in winding rows
and hope they're not choked out by vines.
The rows will not be laid too close.

Then there will be months of rest
but the planning will go on.
If heart keeps thumping in old chest
next winter will see another dawn.

For then will come the hardwoods' turn,
oaks, chestnuts, persimmons, hickorys,
will be set out as time keeps up its burn
despite late winter's crispy breeze.

Finally will come the time to wait
and rock as years pass slowly by
while small seedling grow toward being great.
Their shade will one day block the sky.

I realize I am now an old man.
too old to see this work mature
for forests devour a long time span.
i don't see me in that far future.

But my sons will see the forest arrive.
They'll listen to the acorns fall
and long past when I was alive
my grandson will see walnuts grown tall.