A tree is a gigantic hand
That grips the grateful earth,
Holding it together so that
Seeds might find a home.
Else the soil would turn to sand,
The land of little worth
To those whose favored habitat
Depends on fertile loam.
The tree then filters well the rain
And holds the soil in place,
Feeds it with its fallen leaves
And keeps it moist with shade.
No husbandry could be so sane,
No art so full of grace,
No well-wrought words so apt to please,
No love so well repaid.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.