prayer of the man, tree

for a man to understand himself,
he must go where he does not understand.
lock the treasures of thought in an open mind
and bring understanding to surface.
In among the wild trees he comes across
there may be some of discontent,
but what is there to be understood,
if all is understanding?

the underwood burns down the forest,
because its dry with layden age.
only a side of growing courage
can help make words there way.
such are the circles of age,
and so of experience,
in the trees that have moved.
though hardly walking they pursue the wind
with bold anticipation:
bending, bowing or breaking
by force of change!

the course of change lies in the root.
let not this root be left behind.
unless the route is on the way,
of bark sought for by ploughing ants.
for when the troops of ants do plough,
and the spirit is of company,
than all can stand in no dismay
and keep the walkers company.

for what if all would walk away and
leave nothing behind,
then all would find but barkless trees:
unmystified – unritualized! –
of where its mantrees stood before.
and where its fathers tooth resides.
now, must i speak a toast to those,
that move where love defined them,
and leave us wanderers to walk,
to redefine tradition.

Max Turner


Copyright © by Max Turner
Lisboa 2005