Wrinkled Old Beech

I can’t quite explain why, but lately beech trees have been catching my eye. Maybe it’s something about their trunks, which remind me of elephants (which I love.) Maybe it’s that I recently learned they are related to oaks and that fun fact has them on my mind. No matter the reason, there’s a copper beech and a weeping beech right next to each other on my walk into work, and every day I have been downright entranced by them. So, here is a little poetic tribute to that copper beech- and a picture. Enjoy, friends.

Wrinkled Old Beech

 

Wrinkled old beech, tell me your story
Tell me the things that you’ve seen
Wrinkled old beech what has passed by your roots?
Leaving traces my eyes cannot see

Wise old beech, what years have you known?
What hands have reached for your leaves?
Tell me the mysteries that hid in your truck
With cracks and crevices, elephantine?

Do you remember what feet cross your path,
Like the elephant, whose skin looks like you?
A silent strong sentry you brood on the road
Shade for road weary travelers there.

Nutty old beech, with fuzzy young seeds
Like your brother, the oak’s capped young brood
Dropping and grey, are your memories gone,
Do the years take their toll as you age?

Your grandeur above speaks to what likes below
Neath the path, your true magic unseen,
Your roots span the distance, past what I can know
Through distance, through time, and through space.

You’re reaching for something, oh please, tell me what lies
Beyond that your branches seek so?
Growing outward and outward, to the canopy there
Mirrored by the network below

Hospitable beech, do the birds make their home
Nestled among your branches and leaves?
A world of live connected by you,
And multitudes more, I can’t see

Wrinkled old beech, with elephant bark
Grand and proud and with wisdom of age
I wish you could speak to my ears, like my soul
Of your story, in which I’m just a page.

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