Slim White Birch

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.

--Robert Frost




A flying birch tree in the woods is a wonderful thing
for a little kid who wants to get going in the spring.
Like an ancient catapult attacking castle walls
climb it bend it jump release it in a well timed fall. 

A trip or two into the sky's important after school
helmets are good be careful don't end up launching too far
kids in birches sometime end up taking a real ride
complaining to the md that "the birch did kick my hide"
and subsequent confusion  "did you think you're a bird?" 


And that's my poem about a tree (or trees) 
Joyce Kilmer wrote one too.


Hers is much better but mine is fine
trees have different goals
robins don't like mine because
their nests would not do well
flying through the woods a ways
firing expensive shells.   

But both our trees pray often
(especially mine)

children laughing and flying around
can make a tree want chopping down
ask a mom tearing out her hair
it's in the nature of child care. 

Finally, both Joyce and I
definitely feel like fools sometimes. 

So my comparison is done
A poem lovely as a tree? 
Or a slim white birch with kid bending?   
In ten years who do you think will be
read in classes of poetry?   

While rain falls down on these 
occasionally tapping on their leaves
a gentle drum music  weaving 
songs of laughter chorus winds
nature blessing us again. 

Waiting for children
fixing the air
dancing with fairies

when nobody's there.  

Trees
BY JOYCE KILMER
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.