Harold Macdonald's Muse

























Winter Trees



Harold Macdonald

Sapless, leafless, trees against the sky

are still as dead, life -drained, mere frozen wood

no breathing in and out, no drink nor food

stiff with winter no complaint nor cry.


Slyly trees put on the face of death

hide every trace of life from winterís sight

withstand the blizzards, onslaught of the winterís might

enduring half a year without a breath.


And then, when winterís spent its brutal power

the tree revives, life rises with its sap

its leaves appear with sunshine in its lap

with the birds, and grass and garden flowers.


Could I but have the cunning of the tree

and make a fool of death eternally!



Midi: In the Bleak Mid-winter