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The Comfort of Trees – Margaret Beston

The Comfort of Trees

Apples rot on leaf-soaked ground,
the Beaver moon hangs orange
in the sky. It is the dark time of year,
and she is drowning. If she threw
apple peel across her shoulder
would it spell his name? Will he
rush to her, lower an ash branch
strong enough for her to cling to,
draw her close to him as they glide
past avenues of poplars. And when
they reach the comfort of cool earth,
will they lie together embraced
by healing willow, let the caress
of leaves sweep away their tears.

4 thoughts on “The Comfort of Trees – Margaret Beston”

  1. A beautiful poem which captures the magic of trees. They are certainly a joy. I look at the great oaks behind my house and find much comfort there.

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