Trees Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

Wounded giant, face the earth,
And break the heavens with your birth,
Blast the gates of hell with those
That anchor when the torrents blow.
And though the peoples pass you by,
More life in you than meets the eye,
For hasty men have need of rest,
Or need to flee from emptiness.
But you have dauntless stayed secure
As men have lost their dream deterred,
And all they are is dust and bone,
A breath of life, an infant's home.
Yet you bear more than all the world:
Your children in the days of old.
So too you touch the heaven's hand,
And break the doors of hellish land.
If only men had love and peace,
As rich and full as all the trees,
Who make a mockery of man,
And guard his grave with creeping hand.