by David Rosenthal
Trees need not walk the earth For beauty or for bread; Beauty will come to them Where they stand. Here among the children of the sap Is no pride of ancestry: A birch may wear no less the morning Than an oak. Here are no heirlooms Save those of loveliness, In which each tree Is kingly in its heritage of grace. Here is but beauty’s wisdom In which all trees are wise. Trees need not walk the earth For beauty or for bread; Beauty will come to them In the rainbow— The sunlight— And the lilac-haunted rain; And bread will come to them As beauty came: In the rainbow— In the sunlight— In the rain.