Explore "Trees (F. S. Flint)" by Frank Stuart Flint on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Elm trees / and the leaf the boy in me hated / long ago -- / rough and sandy.
Poplars / and their leaves, / tender, smooth to the fingers, / and a secret in their smell / I have forgotten.
Oaks / and forest glades, / heart aching with wonder, fear: / their bitter mast.
Willows / and the scented beetle / we put in our handkerchiefs; / and the roots of one / that spread into a river: / nakedness, water and joy.
Hawthorn, / white and odorous with blossom, / framing the quiet fields, / and swaying flowers and grasses, / and the hum of bees.
Oh, these are the things that are with me now, / in the town; / and I am grateful / for this minute of my manhood.