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.