WE’LL MISS YOUR PLACE
AGAINST THE SKY


Farewell High Lord of Toxteth

& environs,

whose only known command was:

“Up, up, up!” –– and whose

unflagging spirit sent its

scepter pointing, inching,

reaching, climbing heavenward

with the unfathomable optimism

of an arrow shot

toward something better

than the century of war 

you witnessed, imperturbable

except in storms, lofty in

aspiration, evergreen in

disposition, your boughs lifted

us even as your pine combs

sent us running, trampoline

for a thousand generations

of grateful squirrels,

resting place for umpteen cranky

blue jays and nutty sparrows,

provider of modest shade,

our singular douglas fir

brought low by a common

fungus.
 

What a privilege

to have had your throne

in our yard.


April 2010

 

 



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