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Majesty (Sonnet)
The branches spread above my aching head
with whispers telling me to rest a while;
a reverie descends and spins its thread,
a web of thought and dream to make me smile.
The branches of the tree are strong and wide,
supporting leaves that sweeten in the sun;
by autumn's frost the shining leaves have died,
in winter's gloom there's nothing to be done.
The earth is 'round its star revolving still,
and season's change predictably arrives;
as spring invades the valley and the hill,
each tree and branch with greenery revives.
The trees, accepting nature, gently wait,
and placidly their majesty create.
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Generation (Sonnet)
A kernel grows unbidden from the earth
when sun and rain are given to its need;
it raises up its head, botanic birth,
a tree is born from its inactive seed.
In early seasons, saplings quickly grow,
outstripping death by their exuberance,
new wood and bark protect the lively flow
of waters from the root to leaves' expanse.
Maturity, by which the older trees
bring forth new generations to the sun,
is marked by blossoms nodding in the breeze
and seeds by which the new life is begun.
What import has this in the life of man?
That children are the goal of nature's plan.
The Sitting Rock (Sonnet)
In leafy woods beside a northern lake
there lies a bedrock outcrop weathered by
the glacial ice; the saplings in this brake
have soothed my spirit, and my weary eye.
Cool water laps, not ten feet from the spot,
upon the boulders left in glacial time;
its sweet percussion could not be forgot,
nor fragrances of wintergreen and thyme.
The forest birds call messages of love
in branches farther up the hill, in hope;
beguiling sounds surround me, and above
a windy whisper passes up the slope.
This place of mine is altogether fit
for meditative thoughts in which I sit.
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