Woody Things

Too many things, not enough hours at the moment, so as an act of charity my husband took me on a tree-break today, as the only two kinds I can recognise on my own are London Planes and Shoe-Trees.
The excursion was because I had read swiss's (?) post here, http://theswisslounge.blogspot.com/2009/12/tree-poems.html

which he derived from Colin Will's post here,

http://sunnydunny.wordpress.com/2009/12/10/the-trees-workshop/

I gave myself an hour and came up with these. My folklore tells me that elm was traditionally used to make coffins and that Christ's cross was made of aspen.

Before we go all poem, thanks to both Poetikat for her recent award to me, and to Wigeon for her not so recent one. Ladies, I am honoured; more anon.

Elm Hateth Man, and Waiteth

“Who lives in thee, elm tree?”
“No one,” cried the rooks,
“No one and nothing live in this tree,
Come closer, and see.”

“Who lives in thee, elm tree?”
“Spirits,” cried the rooks,
“Spirits departed live in this tree,
Come closer, and see.”

“Who lives in thee, elm tree?”
“You shall,” cried the rooks,
“You shall arrive to live in this tree,
Come closer, and see.”

“Who lives in thee, elm tree?”
No creature hailed me,
No creature spoke for my deadwood tree,
Save me, save me.

There is an Accursed Tree

At the death of a tree
the earth conspires
to cast a long shadow.

Sideways single aspen,
sucker root bred
was not one, but many.

Yet the grove is over,
sorrowful stand,
west winds found you out,

to leaf-murmur no more
heartwood remorse
at the holding of Christ.