Song of the Elm

Standing tall next to brothers Ash and Birch
we feel as guardians of this silent church.
Soldiers of the land, watchers of the hills.
From tip of limb to tip of limb
our arms encircle valley low,
swaying in rhythm to river's flow.
Purple mountains undulate across the land
seducing a love affair with man.
The river's song is our lullaby.
And in the stillness of the night,
as the moon hangs her luminous smile over our charge,
our limbs that touch from tip to tip,
encircleing all that lies below,
embrace the tightening grip stick
waiting for the reaper: Man.