The Giant Tree
Here I sit under the giant tree,
it does not bear fruit for it is a maple you see.
With giant leaves and branches up there,
when the wind blows it combs our hair.
No fruit like applies, or plums or pears,
peaches, apricots, oranges and cherries to share.
So all the tree can do is stand and shade,
as I sit beneath its umbrella in a partial glade.
I look up now and faces I see, they are all
looking down and smiling at me.
But wait there are some there with teeth,
and others with beards who shout at me.
Wake up and get to work you there.
Under our leaves and branches.
Why do you stare?
Then as I start to sing a song of all
the people who I’ve known long gone.
A cloud appears and rolls on by,
like a chariot with wings made to fly.
Don’t come down yet I sing out loud,
I am not ready to join the crowd.
All gone and lost from sight to see,
but I know each who has loved me.
© Nick Houvras 2015
Natures Cloud Poetry
Man has drawn pictures to express his thoughts and then words came along, and
then he created poems to give vent to his songs.
Now nature has had the whimsy of clouds for eternity.
Clouds are the poems that nature writes everyday.
Bright and light and funny or sometimes gay,
when the sun shines through.
But other times troublesome and cruel and bleak and full of rain thats brew.
Or strong and dark and mysterious and askew.
A hurricane or tornado to name just a few.
Poems of faces we know and recognize,
of those who we love and have memorized.
White puffs and grey frowns full of charm and wit,
somethings we will never forget.
© Nick Houvras 2009 member of the Cloud Appreciation Society.
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