Spiky, a mass of spikes more threatening than sharp - <br />what are they fending off, what are they protecting <br />so fiercely with their green carapace like a thoughtful womb, <br />dropping their hidden beauties in reflective autumn <br />so generously despite their ferocity, scattered all around, <br />rejecting the curious mind of passers-by, <br />yielding to those who know to seek what they hold precious; <br />or perhaps to lie uninvestigated, awaiting the invisibility <br />of the wintered years, the earth’s silent fruitful grave, <br />to seed, to grow, to spread their glorious canopy <br />some later spring, some future generation, <br />with flowers as delicate as wild orchids? <br /> <br />Dare to investigate, open their spiky soft protection, <br />and a beauty without parallel is revealed: like some sculpture <br />fashioned by a master craftsman in some rich wood; <br />dare to touch, to lift, to hold: the surface has been polished <br />with some wax that’s more like precious soap, <br />made by some mind that knows as many secrets <br />as a tree. <br /> <br />Laugh if you will at this precious toy for boys <br />which, pulped into pure water, will wash the finest clothes, <br />redeem their stains, and leave the lightest fabric of our dreams <br />the radiant, palest blue of heaven itself; <br /> <br />chestnut tree; metaphor for poem and poet, <br />for those who seek a parable of unity <br />to join blue heaven with the rich brown earth.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0021-poets-tree/
