So I'll fill this column with verse that hasn't been published elsewhere.
To a Cypress Tree
O cypress tree
growing in a swamp,
your grotesqueness
gives you a resemblance
to man.
Tall and substantial,
you flaunt your sturdiness,
unmindful of the fact
that your defects
are but sparsely covered
by your thin foliage.
Like man
you try to keep your head
in the clouds,
while your feet
are buried deep
in the mud.
A Growing Tree
A growing tree: eternity--
Synonymous they seem to me.
The tree some day will meet decay
And all of it will pass away;
| But not for long will it remain |
| A prostrate mass of woody grain. |
The rotted wood will furnish good
Rich soil where once the old tree stood.
A tiny sprout will venture out
And soon its leaves will wave about.
| Another tree will grow and fall |
| And nourish other saplings small. |
The Beauty of Irregularity
Stately trees in an even row
With trunks as straight as sunbeams go,
A picture made by man--just so--
| Have no appeal for me. |
I look for trees with twisted boles;
Old cedars, dent and full of holes,
Or cypress like totem poles,
| Are what I want to see. |
A row of tulips neat and straight,
Or round or square beds--these I hate;
And a row of sweetpeas by the gate--
| These horrors I despise. |
But goldenrod along a lane,
Swamp marigolds and harebells plain,
And riant cosmos drenched with rain
| Are lovely to my eyes. |
The Way Between
From green to green is an endless way,
The breathing green at the pine tree's top
Is years away
From the sleeping moss at its feet.
The way between from green to green
Is rough and hard and grating,
With never a place for the eye to rest
from the dull drab space between
The green.
Upward from mossy smooth childhood
The way is irksome as pine tree bark,
With never a break in the roughness,
Never a twig to cling to.
Slowly climbing toward the living green
This is surely above,
Nothing can be done
Except perhaps to crawl
Under the shaggy bark to oblivion,
Hoping to irritate the life beneath
And cause it to thrust out a branch
Of green in protest
To break the barren brown.
Dr. A.O. Goldsmith of Kennett is a retired director of the School of Journalism, Louisiana State University.













