From Walking Under Trees

By John McCabe

From seed and seedling, they all soar to be.

As charged crusade, they join the canopy,

Roots to roots as knowing grove causes.

The trees are here and there to ever stand

The planet sends its gifts, its ready fortresses.

 

Family of man living earth’s cutting trees –

Cut to roof, table, fire, tool, shield and spears,

Carve to sail the sea a boat of wooden beams,

Long blanks planer’s hand to wings in flight

And rudder set the course, a parting pier.

 

King’s throne and sacred altar piece carved,

Child’s bowl and a mother’s spoon to stir,

Axe handle and hammered blow the peg,

Oxen bow and cart and wheel to turn in time,

Rifle stock and bible books paging to read.

 

The tree, the tree to live and die again,

A baby’s crib, a corpse to rest in peace

Again the fire warmth or dugout canoe.

The arrow flies, the mallet verdict sounds,

Our God there hangs nailed upon a tree.


John McCabe, a lifelong writer in all genres, is an active member of the Writers Guild at the Pearl S. Buck Writing Center. His novel The Grey Pennies of Wars centers on his experience as a young soldier undergoing atomic bomb testing in Nevada and is actively seeking a publisher.

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