Somewhere the tree is growing That will be my bed: Cold white wood against cold white flesh, And the last prayer said. Sometime we'll creep together, And our dust, as one, Will talk deep things with the gossiping rain And the curious sun. But today the tree is singing, Pregnant with bursting flower, And glad in the dawn and starlight I live my hour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRANSIENCE OF HANDS by KAREN SWENSON PINE-TREES AND THE SKY: EVENING by RUPERT BROOKE THE EMULATION by SARAH FYGE EGERTON THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE FLATTERERS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |