The Memory 

of Trees 

Along

the lane,

and beyond 

the curve

of the rising 

hill,

our trees knot 

and whisper, 

their leaves

arching high

overhead,

their branches 

sway,

the wind, 

soothes

trembles,

and wanders,

between sky, 

cloud 

and 

sea, 

and along 

that beach,

beyond the crest

of the last edge, 

the last curve 

of tides, 

and a distant 

shore,

we walk 

and remember, 

for the time

we thought 

was

in front 

of us,

for we never

listened 

to our footsteps,

and what 

had passed

before.

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p1964km@googlemail.com