'I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree'
A single leaf makes its own history.
Attached to the bough from which it
sprung it is a perfect entity.
As part of the whole a resting-place for birds,
and a refuge for life-forms that we cannot see.
It welcomes the seasons, and greets each day
with an open face.
Throughout it's life it made no enemy, yet,
men come with chainsaws to fell the parent tree.
It was cold and wet
and there he was,
sitting on a park bench,
sorting his worldly posessions
into a plastic bag.
A book of poetry,