Sunday, 11 December 2011

beech trees

December winds have stripped other trees naked, 
unveiling the dark shadows of little birds,
but the beech trees are still holding onto their leaves,

stained gold by the sun, fluttering like love letters
written on parchment thin as birdskin.
They wish to cling to its twisting arms 

and thick weathered slate trunk 
tough as elephant skin, and paint their poetry 
for the full moon watching over them.

and on each leaf is written in tiny copperplate writing -
I will never let you go.


Anonymous said...

Leaves as love letters-- what a gorgeous image. Your poems always intrigue me from start to finish. I like this one a lot.

Mark Sargeant said...

Thanks Jade! I kept driving past trees and the only ones with leaves left were the beech trees, so I thought that they really, really wanted to stay on...