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The Sacred Tree

Updated on September 7, 2012

A large elm along the Hudson River several hundred years old.

Poetry by Joanne Kathleen Farrell

The Sacred Tree


The golden elm of this forest

in the natural flow of air,

limbs tossing summertime on my face

blowing botanicals in my hair.

Rightfully entitled

respect and subordination.

The influence of his breath.

made sanctified in the region.

Does this elm lobby for authority

and sovereignty from above?

He who knows timelessness

and adoration and love?


No one seems to be here

to hold the green forest lines.

It appears restful and peaceful

void of any binds.

No cabinet to claim it yet,

no military proceed.

Where are the suitable lines drawn,

indicators and maps?

When I share his breath today

all the borders elapse.

I'm sure they were standardized

with code and convention,

horizontal,

verticle,

and so it be written.

For if this elm could elect

a representative to plead,

I'd save him eternally

in a voiceless world of green.



By Joanne Kathleen Farrell, author of Liberty for the Lion Shield


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