A short poem on trees
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4
He climbed toward the blinding light
and when his eyes adjusted
he looked down and could see
his fellow prisoners captivated
by shadows; everything he had believed
was false. And he was suddenly
in the 20th century, in the sunlight
and violence of history, encumbered
by knowledge. Only a hero
would dare return with the truth.
So from the cave's upper reaches,
removed from harm, he called out
the disturbing news.
What lovely echoes, the prisoners said,
what a fine musical place to live.
He spelled it out, then, in clear prose
on paper scraps, which he floated down.
But in the semi-dark they read his words
with the indulgence of those who seldom read:
It's about my father's death, one of them said.
No, said the others, it's a joke.
By this time he no longer was sure
of what he'd seen. Wasn't sunlight a shadow too?
Wasn't there always a source
behind a source? He just stood there,
confused, a man who had moved
to larger errors, without a prayer.
by Stephen Dunn
and when his eyes adjusted
he looked down and could see
his fellow prisoners captivated
by shadows; everything he had believed
was false. And he was suddenly
in the 20th century, in the sunlight
and violence of history, encumbered
by knowledge. Only a hero
would dare return with the truth.
So from the cave's upper reaches,
removed from harm, he called out
the disturbing news.
What lovely echoes, the prisoners said,
what a fine musical place to live.
He spelled it out, then, in clear prose
on paper scraps, which he floated down.
But in the semi-dark they read his words
with the indulgence of those who seldom read:
It's about my father's death, one of them said.
No, said the others, it's a joke.
By this time he no longer was sure
of what he'd seen. Wasn't sunlight a shadow too?
Wasn't there always a source
behind a source? He just stood there,
confused, a man who had moved
to larger errors, without a prayer.
by Stephen Dunn
Answered by
2
Prayer of the Woods
I am the heat of your hearth on the cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from the summer sun, and my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your thirst as you journey on.
I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you lie, and the timber that builds your boat.
I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your homestead, the wood of your cradle, and the shell of your coffin.
I am the bread of kindness and the flower of beauty. 'Ye who pass by, listen to my prayer: Harm me not.
(This prayer has been used in the Portuguese forest preservations for more than 1,000 years.)
Though much is taken, much abides....
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.--
Alfred Lord Tennyson -- Ulysses
Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. Everything is simply happy. Trees are happy for no reason; they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance. Look at the flowers - for no reason. It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are.-
Osho
DIALOGUE OF A MAN AND A TREE
The Man: Why do you grow so tall, way up there in the sky?
The Tree: I love the heights that are clean and free, where the lonely eagles fly, where the crane and the hawk can nest with me, and my friends, the geese, go by.
The Man: What do you use for food, tree to make you grow and grow?
The Tree: I live on a diet of Nature's best from my roots deep down below; I never go hungry, I rest and rest and wait for the rain and the snow.
The Man: How do you grow so strong, Tree, sturdy and straight and true?
The Tree: I live in the light of the sunshine and yarn for the sky's deep blue; the clean, sweet air is always mine, and the cold winds help me too.
The Man: How do you live so long, Tree, so much longer than man?
The Tree: I've geared my days with the Creator's ways since ever the world began. There is no death when life keeps faith with nature's wonderful plan.--
Vincent Godfrey Burns, Poet Laureate of Maryland, 1965
I LOVE A TREE
When I pass to my reward.
Whatever that may be,
I'd like my friends to think of me
As one who loved a tree.
I may not have a statesman's poise
Nor thrill a throng with speech
But I may benefit mankind
If I set out a beech.
If I transport a sapling oak
To rear its mighty head
Twill make for them a childhood shrine,
That will not soon decay.
Of if I plant a tree with fruit,
On which the birds may feed,
Then I have fostered feathered friends
And that's a worthy deed.
For winter when the days grow short
And spirits may run low
I'd plant a pine upon the scape
T'would lend a cheery glow.
I'd like a tree to mark the spot
Where I am laid to rest
For that would be the epitaph
That I would like the best.
Tho it's not carved upon a stone
For those who come to see
But friends would know that resting there
Is he, who loved a tree
-- Samuel N. Baxter
My heart is glad, my heart is high
With sudden ecstacy!
I have given back, before I die,
Some thanks for every lovely tree
That dead men grew for me.
- V. H. Friedlaendeer
I am the heat of your hearth on the cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from the summer sun, and my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your thirst as you journey on.
I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you lie, and the timber that builds your boat.
I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your homestead, the wood of your cradle, and the shell of your coffin.
I am the bread of kindness and the flower of beauty. 'Ye who pass by, listen to my prayer: Harm me not.
(This prayer has been used in the Portuguese forest preservations for more than 1,000 years.)
Though much is taken, much abides....
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.--
Alfred Lord Tennyson -- Ulysses
Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. Everything is simply happy. Trees are happy for no reason; they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance. Look at the flowers - for no reason. It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are.-
Osho
DIALOGUE OF A MAN AND A TREE
The Man: Why do you grow so tall, way up there in the sky?
The Tree: I love the heights that are clean and free, where the lonely eagles fly, where the crane and the hawk can nest with me, and my friends, the geese, go by.
The Man: What do you use for food, tree to make you grow and grow?
The Tree: I live on a diet of Nature's best from my roots deep down below; I never go hungry, I rest and rest and wait for the rain and the snow.
The Man: How do you grow so strong, Tree, sturdy and straight and true?
The Tree: I live in the light of the sunshine and yarn for the sky's deep blue; the clean, sweet air is always mine, and the cold winds help me too.
The Man: How do you live so long, Tree, so much longer than man?
The Tree: I've geared my days with the Creator's ways since ever the world began. There is no death when life keeps faith with nature's wonderful plan.--
Vincent Godfrey Burns, Poet Laureate of Maryland, 1965
I LOVE A TREE
When I pass to my reward.
Whatever that may be,
I'd like my friends to think of me
As one who loved a tree.
I may not have a statesman's poise
Nor thrill a throng with speech
But I may benefit mankind
If I set out a beech.
If I transport a sapling oak
To rear its mighty head
Twill make for them a childhood shrine,
That will not soon decay.
Of if I plant a tree with fruit,
On which the birds may feed,
Then I have fostered feathered friends
And that's a worthy deed.
For winter when the days grow short
And spirits may run low
I'd plant a pine upon the scape
T'would lend a cheery glow.
I'd like a tree to mark the spot
Where I am laid to rest
For that would be the epitaph
That I would like the best.
Tho it's not carved upon a stone
For those who come to see
But friends would know that resting there
Is he, who loved a tree
-- Samuel N. Baxter
My heart is glad, my heart is high
With sudden ecstacy!
I have given back, before I die,
Some thanks for every lovely tree
That dead men grew for me.
- V. H. Friedlaendeer
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