The Tree's Comfort Poem by Paddy J. P. Harris

Entangled in my twisted roots,
Below this grassy lea,
There lies a man whose soul has sailed
Across the moonlit sea.

Yet sometimes in my treeish sleep,
Entwined with stars and streams,
A whisper of the west-wind weaves
A vision through my dreams.

I am walking in the wood beyond the field,
In the bluebell time of Spring.
The sun is warm upon my leaves,
And on my boughs the birds sing.

Or I am rooted in meadow grass,
Below me people lie,
Eating good food, drinking fine wine
And breathing contented sighs.

But then I wake. The vision goes,
And I am left alone.
The leaden clouds above me float;
The bodies sleep below.

Yet, through the winters cruellest frost
I feel that summer breeze,
That wanders over the western wave,
And whispers through my leaves.