Here is a blonde-marked maple tree:
Stands by the road so stolidly
While mourners make their floral shrines
And in the night a taper shines;
But soon the taper will burn out
And yet the tree will remain stout;
And it will stand for years to come
Spreading its leaves beneath the sun;
And in the Fall will drop them too,
And with some Springs its bark renew.

Us mourners, we, will go to bed,
But where can a tree lay its head?
It does not budge or cringe or cry,
And does not ask the question: Why?
It’s just a token that young man
Is done in by his own élan.

 

Reid McGrath is a poet living in the Hudson Valley.

Featured Image: “Transcendence,” watercolor, by Cathy Hillegas

Related Post

Review: In Hubble’s Shadow by Carol Smallwood, Shanti... By Alex Phuong The night sky has served as the inspiration for many poets and writers, from Longfellow’s “The Light of Stars” to “Stars” by Rob...

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.