Last Tree In The Wood (Poetry)

My soul is the wind
it howls in this tree
and trembles the heart
of all that is free
ghosts crowd around me

I penetrate dreams
leaves whisper through sleep
limbs gather thin snow
so winter will keep
ring secrets grown deep

One hundred years cold
I swing with the gale
the old verses spun
by some axeman’s tale
truth’s harder to nail

The clouds know my name
pass close overhead
vouchsafe soothing rain
pale moon has me wed
thus spirit is fed

Last outpost of wood
this tree stands alone
and hurls green complaint
at houses of stone
wind carries each moan