Trees

A child will tell you in no uncertain terms
That tree bark is brown and smooth.
They speak in earnest truth.
But trees are also grey and white and fleshy pink.
I have seen countless trees
With countless scars.
I have seen trees split and wounded-
Only to grow again.

Anyone will vouch for the fact that
Trees grows straight and tall-
And truth, at least in part,
Resides with them.
But trees also grow in gnarled knots
That wondrously writhe.
I have seen a tree bigger than I
Twist and curl on its belly
Before lunging for the sky.

A carpenter will tell you
That trees are used for doors
And tables and books and such-
And he is not wholly wrong.
But they are also
Strong and silent guardians-
Our closest link to a
Primitive past.