The Sound of the Trees

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

By: Robert Frost.

I love this poem because it reminds me of when I look at the trees-and actually think about them-in that they don’t change, they stay the same they are constant, they are stable except when the wind or the storms push them over or sway them to the right or to the left-they take all of this with dignity and pride-and they remain such an integral part of life do they not?

These trees stay in their place-that same place-either they are new and growing, or old but standing still as time moves on and on and surrounds them. They sit and wait despite their fate, oh for an idle thought, and yea, such a  profound mystery these trees staring down at me.

Banff-photo by Deidre


About teahouse1

I have a Bible College Diploma, attended the University of Winnipeg, and Camosun College in Victoria. I write poetry, and articles, check out my portfolio at:
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