The History of Trees

A curling front of weather,
The big pine is one tree
To drink its share of rain
At the end of each parched day.
It muses too about freedom,
The role it plays in tree history.

But the study of Rome, say, in history
Rarely mentions the weather
Or the lives lost of trees
In battles fought in the rain.
Fallen by the end of the day --
So one side can claim freedom.

Soldier after soldier is no longer free
To plant his roots and tell his story,
Neither enjoy nor bemoan the weather
With some sturdy wife under the shade tree,
Laughing as children play in the rain,
Knowing theyíve grown for one more day.

On that battleground at the end of the day,
Upended trees and men have the freedom
We all have: the end of personal history,
What waits on no exact weather.
Though with supernal forces they entreat,
That end does come to their refrain.

And here, I wait on a good rain
To clean away a difficult day
Of wondering about my particular freedoms
And othersí. Does anyone know whether
There was a moment in history
When Honesty, not Freedom, was the treat?

Honesty is what lives in every tree
If not in human history.
Pine drinks in the rain,
Without a question or shame in its day.
It lives its quiet freedom,
Only waits on the weather.

But the truth waits not on rain or other weather,
Freedom does not move history or a tree,
And thereís nothing free except inside of me today.