I\'ve never seen or heard it known,
A Tree much like a Flowering Poem.
By Potant Soil sprang Shoots of Rhythm;
That Blossom long on Winter Vine.
As Centuries Old all Seeds were Sown;
From fancied Buds to Verses Grown.
With Tillowed lines on Love and Life,
Of Savoured Joy, Enduring Strife.
Those Acts we play in Stanzas made,
Form Tendrils spread on Parchment laid.
For Evergreen Blooms are Poetry\'s might,
Free from Autumns gaudy light,
To grow Immortal throughout the Age -
While Trees are Felled for Poetry\'s Page.