Tree of the cascades
Visage swathed in green
The robe of winter’s queen.
How the night wind races in your memory,
Though the darts of dawn
Silver the dew
Adorning your limbs.
Deep-rooted memories echoing
Like lyric strains of birdsong
Filtered through your leaves
That shimmer in the breeze.
When once you ran you cried ‘Diana!
My limbs are like the wild wind.”
And, green nymph, your legs would ache,
Your body taut
While stalking prey.
O fledgling!
In dewy youth
Summer’s song was golden.
Now your supple leaves are falling.
In their wake you find none forming
A royal wreath
To still your aching heart.
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