Future Trees

Let’s kick things off with a poem about nature, penned while charging over the downs in Surrey on the train. Plus, sloths live in trees, y’know. First time I’ve ever really played with the lay out of a poem.

 

Future Trees

As my train cleaves

through ancient woods

Dulled against leaden skies

Engraved into the world by

Father Time’s well-worn

chisel

I

wonder, hope, maybe

That one impossible day

The

forests will close back over this land

That

They one day used to freely

roam

 

It is said that a squirrel, back then

Were there squirrels back then?

Could have scampered, tree to tree

From Caledonian pines to the English Channel

 

While the steel parallels ward them off

As we streak over the North Downs

There is a timeless patience, presence

Which makes me think, hope, maybe

 

That despite greed

These trees could yet

Win the long-future day 

Us long since gone

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust.

Maybe

then, as part of the land

We

 can be their fuel as they silently

call

across the land to one another

The

green

green

trees

of

home.

Happy Monday, here’s to some Winter sun.

Sloth out.

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