About the Poem
The moon belongs to poets and lovers. This poem was born on March 31, 1999. The night of the second blue moon of the year. This poem was born of loneliness and aching; of missing someone deeply. I connected to the oak tree in my front yard. It is stately and majestic, yet it is tied to its place in life by nature. It towers over our world, and peeks across miles of time and space. It is so much closer to the moon than we are. One just has to think, they share whispered secrets; the tall trees and the moon.
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A Tree That Might Be Me
|by Veronica Ann Cech|
I sat on my swing early this morning of late night,
feeling the wind lift my hair, caress my face, whisper in my ear.
Watching the upper most branches of
an old oak tree
swaying in the blue moonlight.
A sturdy oak tree,
thick of trunk, its sapling years left far behind,
strong and stately,
yet its uppermost branches swayed, reached, yearned
against the blue of the moon's rays.
I felt a strong connection to that old oak tree,
providing shade and solace to those below,
unwavering but for its upper- most branches,
reaching out for something more,
against the grey night sky.
The moon, as blue as blue can be, wore a halo tonight.
It caressed the futile reachings of the old oak.
All of nature knows its place.
I, alone, have the gall to suspect that old oak
aches for more.
More than the solidity of its existence,
Unable to roam the world at its stately feet,
Hearing the whispers of possible wonders the moon
gently lays upon its soul.
It settles for a gentle breeze to stir its uppermost branches.