Song of the Trees

I have lived here among these trees
so leave me here in summer breeze
among the pines I talk to these,
my friends.

When the winter winds prevail
the trees will cry with moaning wail
and shed their needles on my trail
I won’t be here to walk that trail
when spring comes.

The snows will come with white drifts deep
and pile the corners where I sleep
I could not live without this keep
of silences.

Patricia Harris Hawks September, 1983