How shall I tell of the trees?
The reaching, the green-and-dark stance –
and light and leaves in a dance –
how shall I tell of these?
How shall I tell of the flowers?
Tiny blue trumpets blare
as bluebells conquer the air
on top of trimmest thin towers.
How shall I tell of the day?
pour light through their words,
till night hides their glitter away.
How shall I tell of my child?
All trees, all flowers,
and the bird-worded hours
tell of him. His young force is half wild.