The Tree
by Chris Bohnhoff

I have a carpet of velvet ferns.  I have no walls; the forest my home
No rules govern my life; I’m free, as free as a bird” said the tree
“The sky is mine, my path divine
I soar, I swoop to infinity,” said the swiftly buzzing bee

“My roof is my own, a thatch of woven needles
I have no dues, no dates to see.  No animal compares to me.”
“You cannot move, you’re anchored fast
Just watching, oh, ’t would be a bore, while bees can fly forevermore.”

“But nay,” explained the patient tree.  “For my sides are ragged with age
And each day has brought to me, sights unseen by busy bees
I hear the wind blow swift and free, the river sings melodically
Each weathered scratch that you can see marks a new discovery.”
The scoffing bee, away has flown; the wise old tree lets out a moan
“That poor bee never will have known the things I cherish for my own.”

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Poem Copyright © 2002 by Chris Bohnhoff



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