Pine Tree Music
This night I pray for a gentle zephyr, a baby's breath or sigh;the loblollies on the hillside have been quiet all day,
only the squeak-creak of the boughs, bone dry
all percussion, atonal études they play.
But a little stirring of the atmosphere
and the woodwinds, through a thousand clusters
of green sabers, prickly lances, each a spear
that battles with the wind and its blusters
merge to meld noise with sacred sensations--
needles and pins and bellicose breezes,
and their wispy whispering conversations
should calm my stormy soul tonight
Poetry by William Hughes
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Written on 2026-02-15 at 16:44
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