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For Whom Do I Sing My Songs

Nature Poems

The Old Tree


The old tree stands defenseless, naked,
Branches-dry, withered, old-
Through long years of punishment
Its trunk has been furrowed
By stormy winds and cold!

Mute, appearing to be sleeping,
Snow and ice surround its girth.
It seems without life-barely breathing....
Then-with fresh breath-there's new birth!

One morning the sunshine warms the air,
Nipping the twigs with tenderness,
Poking fun at snow and frost-filled cares-
Putting an end to a half-year's quietness! . . .

Wind-blown leaves-arousing-
Tempestuous, with airy effervescence-
In impetuous early morning renewed,
Bursting with youth and fragrance.

Did the tree awake of itself at end of night?
From whence came its magic-its might?
Is humanity a partner, a helping hand?
Shouldering a burden that together they carried
hand-in-hand?
I offer a song in praise of those who share-
With obligations of unity
Their striving, their love-and witness bear
To hallowedness-sun-rayed in brilliancy.

How lovely, that the blessed old tree-
After winter's cold-and snows so deep,
Awoke, and sprouted anew,
Rousing its children from their sleep! . . .

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 Spring, 1953

To my grandson, Clay, on his birthday, April 30, 1953

Stately trees are now awakening.
Young dreams. . . a new-blown spring.
Soon new life will be ablooming, Leaflets. . .
like a cultured twin. . .
Life awaits the coming of new birth
With gladness and hope to gird the earth!

The wind stirs old leaves far and wide-
Wakes from sleep the young
Blossoming flowerers; tiny heads-open-eyed. . .
Trees murmur secrets in their own tongue;
Bend touchingly back and forth as they strain. . .
Soon seedlings will call out:
"Quickly send us freshets of rain!"

The storm comes on,
Bringing the lightning and rain....
Watering woods and fields domain. . .
And the wind, great restless one. . .
Doesn't permit budding twigs their repose to retain.
Without mercy, tepidly tears down
Blossoms newly born-
The roots stubbornly defy this duress-
And say with scorn:
"You cannot destroy us! "

The sun resents gross impudence
By the insolent wind displayed....
And by a swift turn-about Warms anew. . .
life-so long delayed.

From beneath-a young, yellow flowerer peeks-
Fresh from its napping,
Winks its eye and sort of speaks-

"All life is raw when it begins....
It is stronger than the winds. . .
When the earth of a life is deprived-
We find another-newly arrived!"

The sun smiles-peering radiantly. . .
Grants the earth new fruition.
The air is fragrant, fresh and free. . .
Hearts awaken with jubilation.

Almost pompous, trees stand proudly,
Roused from their dreams-and so virtuous-
The spring has come in full array-
Embracing all, with joyousness! . . .

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My Plum Tree

At eventide
As the sun was going down,
From my window wide
I saw its final crimson rays settle on
My blossoming plum tree.

As I gazed upon my old plum tree
It brought the thought
That for ten fruitless years you stood before me,
Now-a wonder you have wrought!

For ten years, my dear old tree
Turned green and blossomed in the spring-
But never once for me
Did you your harvest bring.

Then suddenly you blossomed forth,
After ten years wintry barrenness-
In such a silvery white cloth
That I was mirrored in its brightness.
And you smiled at me, you smiled at me-
My dear plum tree.

How admirably you spread out
Like a gracious pregnant woman-
With your fruit-laden branches stout,
And every snowy blossom with its sheen-
Turning into half-round growth-green.

'Tis but to marvel at your tenth anniversary flowering-
So prolific and revitalized, There you stand towering
With green, juicy fruit bedecked.

Masses of fruit hang on,
Seemingly without end,
Branches so heavily laden
Begin to bend.

My blessed plum tree-
Will you stand it all?
Will you not break in two-
Perchance crash and fall?

Or shall you live and endure-
And your fruit, full-blown-mature,
When mankind will recite benedictions aloud
O'er your ripe juicy plums full of fragrance,
And its blessings will be bestowed
On the great wonder of your "deliverance. "

'Twas worth the while to tarry-
Awaiting that longed for revival-
My dear, patient plum tree-
A joy!-a wonder eternal!

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 The Little Bird

Birds entwining grass and straw busily,
On thin little green bough aloft.
Building small nest most skillfully-
Tiny home-so warm, so soft. . .

Therein the small eggs she'll lay-
And the young family
Will increase, thrive and sing-
And to one another all will closely cling.

Mother bird, in fluttering streak,
Carries fat juicy worm
In her minute beak-
Small feast-a holiday treat.

The little bird lives joyously-
With her fledgling brood....
She flies, she rests. . . sings merrily-
Whatever suits her mood.

To herself, oft a small song she'll sing-
Touching... delicate... tunefully....
One cannot help wondering
At the notes, handled so knowingly.

As for man-
Invincible through the ages-
She creates joy within, As she presages:-

"Look everywhere....
Spring indeed is in the air. . . "
Mankind, you too should profit from the presence
Of this delightful, flowering essence.

Breathe in swiftly and deep
Nature's bounty grand.....
A force of powerful sweep
Lies within your hand.

Mankind, you should sing too,-
Great Hero!
With clarion tone. . .
And by word and deed
Make this the better world we need! ....

 

 

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