Cylindrical basically white forms With dabbles of shadows of black Sinewy phalanges reaching to the heavens, is what birches are Sentinels on guard in the forest Standing the test and ages of time Awe inspiring in mere existence To the eye and poetic heart Like the human condition, fragile but strong Indians believed, the white was of purity The dark of life's sorrows and costly times But the birch, oh yes, the birch Stands in its majestic pride The birch so similar to that of a child Has flexibility for give and take Handling the season winds of change And like the child, questions not It draws me to itself in its pristine glory That I may walk the floor of nature Look to it with respect forever And always be inspired
| Published in The Longfellow Journal, Volume XV
© Ruth Marie Lovejoy
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