These sombre fingers of the earth’s dark hands –
indices – sometimes a pinkie, too –
rise, majestic, from once-blessèd lands
and point the way to celestial blue.
These Ash or Aspen, Maple, Pine and Beech;
these Oak, Sequoia, Redwood Lime or Birch:
I do believe in them – and prize their speech –
and see their trunks as pillars of one church.
So delicate their leaves in golds and green
applauding hymns to skylarks, softly gloved.
Palms cup my skull as I admire the scene
and dream this helpless planet is still loved –
although I fear the worst for all my trees
as none save modern men will hear my pleas.
[as first appeared in Earth Advocay News]