I recently read a beautiful poem by Robert Frost called “Tree At My Window.” It was about the companionship of the speaker and the tree itself. I thought upon how closely tied we are to the living things around us and the simultaneous nature of which we grow together yet separately. There happens to be a lovely tree that stands across my window. A tree that I have spent days looking out at, subconsciously growing with and becoming attached to. I thought I would try my hand writing about that tree.
Tree at MY window
I look to you when the sun casts it last shadow
And the spring bred clouds retreat,
Leaving me a dust of darkness densely scattered,
Swallowing all but the opalescent stars
Whose luster dulled by nights mock light wanes.
I rest upon your bending bough deaths revival,
Renewed hope and discarded dreams,
But I am not as green to think
Your branches house alone my despondency,
For withered eyes grown cold to you
Unknown to me have long been buried.
It is but a dream that I be withered too
As youthful eyes seek solace in your immortality
For my years are fixed, never to replenish,
As your limbs lay dormant only to revive
With vigorous vitality.
But what I have not in years, I have in ability
To drift meaninglessly as I please,
Only to find myself here again,
Growing smaller as your ever extending arms
Struggle to defeat mankind’s growing reach.