House of Tall Pine

House of Tall Pine

Before me stands row upon row of tall pine
Long trunks of rusty brown, papery bark
Needles on branches to high for me to touch
Their many fingers caress the air
Which only happens to be passing by.
Upon the air the trees pack their scent
As if sending a message for someone to catch
A whiff a blast which ever it be
Will for a moment touch the recipient
And for that moment they will stop
For it calls forth a memory of another time
Somewhere, something from their past
Below me is layer upon layer
Of dead and dying needles
They pad the floor to cushion your step
And soften noises to bare whispers
Here it sounds like a holy placeIf only I could lie down and rest
But I fear I may never wish to rise again.
Around me winks the pale yellow rays
Of the sun that pierces the tops of the trees
And filters down through the spiky fingers
Of the branches of the regal trees
I touch the pale yellow spots that dot the T
runks and dance upon the floor
And for a moment I wish to be a ray.
In me all is quiet; my mind
My heart, my soulIt is why I come here
To this home of tall pine.
To renew my spirit and calm my blood
To pull together my frayed pieces
And make me whole again.