The Beeches Poem by Barry Middleton

The days I studied every tree
I knew them more by reputation
than by their name or occupation,
the job their wood is used to fill.
Now time has taught that beech are best
as homes for squirrels or signs to mark
a boy's way home as woods grow dark.
The old trees die from inside out
and form a hollow hulk to warm
the lives they house. The wood that's lost
the beetles take, and birds in turn.
And so their use for boards and beams
is limited, except the few
the loggers take for pulp and crates.
The giants are scarred by woodpecker work
and where I carved essential facts
in jackknife script so long ago.
For beeches were best for dates and hearts
that carry me back on woodland walks
and prove the marks the beeches made on me
were deeper yet than those I went to see.