The Sacred Tree
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
