Autumn Tree

The tree’s yellow leaves are keyboards of the cold.
It has musics and many tales to be told.
A bough can extend a casual hand;
It’s by no means a snob, no elitist.
It’s there for the penetrating intelligence,
And for people of superficial sense.
And that is why the tree’s force
Is the greatest artist, magician of all.
All minds are invited, the great and small.
Yet though the superficial have yellow and green
And red, though colors be the pleasant screen,
Mystery is made for the higher minds.
The tree is nothing to be understood;
It is no longer quite color, no longer quite wood
Nor form, but a gesture of infinity, space,
And the origin of the human race.
The tree’s force manifests what is obvious, clear,
Yet its divinity’s not in the patently good,
But in that which can never be understood.

Share: