Jane Hirshfield (New York / United States)
It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.
Even in this
you will have to choose.
That great calm being,
this clutter of soup pots and books -
Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.
Comments about this poem (Tree by Jane Hirshfield )
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