Song of the Scotch Pines

Now, I’ve stumbled upon a sacred spot:

A grassy place in between three scotch pines,

Making a holy hedge where the wind stops

But where the sun can shine

These are ever-living and evergreen,

For they are a true trinity of trees.

A truer temple has never been seen

And so I settle down onto my knees.

With the trees, I quietly continue

Whispering that sweet prayer that never ends:

That silent hymn that always seems new,

The one on which the universe depends.

            The trees are my brothers, though they are made of wood

            We sweetly sing of beauty, truth, and good.

cc 2000

Benjamin J. Cline