Arbutus


Most mornings I have a simple dance with the crows, I offer my humble crumbs and they gratefully accept.  It’s something small that brings me immense pleasure and they feel like friends to me.  

Last night I had an alarming dream where my crow friends were badly harmed.  So when I woke this morning I tried to tune words for a poem about the dream (it was one of those epic sorts.)  That’s  when I stumbled upon a cache of beautiful madrone berries here in our wild garden.  I had been trying to figure out what the crows and Jays were arguing about the last few days, now I know it was the delicious Madrone (Arbutus Menziesii)Berries. Maybe the crow poem will come later, for now I’ll share one of my favorite poems, which just happens to be about an Arbutus tree.


My Love’s an Arbutus Tree

By Alfred Percival Graves

 


My love’s an arbutus

By the borders of Lene,

So slender and shapely

In her girdle of green;

And I measure the pleasure

Of her eye’s sapphire sheen,

By the blue skies that sparkle

Thro’ that soft branching screen. 


But tho’ ruddy the berry

And snowy the flow’r,

That brighten together

The arbutus bow’r,

Perfuming and blooming

Through sunshine and show’r,

Give me her bright lips

And her laugh’s pearly dower. 


Alas, fruit and blossom 

Shall lie dead on the lea,

And Time’s jealous fingers

Dim your young charms, Machree;

But unranging, unchanging,

You’ll still cling to me,

Like the ever-green leaf

To the arbutus tree


 


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