I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE,

by Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle.

Westward the willows whisper;
     Southward the sycamore;
Eastward the elms grow crisper;
     Northward the banyans roar.

Upward the birch-tree reaches;
     Downward the cypress digs;
Leftward is loud with beeches;
     Rightward is fraught with figs.

Inward the linden grumbles;
     Outward the locust flails;
Softly the sago stumbles;
     Hardly the hemlock hails.

Often the dogwood stammers;
     Seldom the cypress bends;
Always the hornbeam hammers;
     Never the redwood ends.

Comments

  1. Belfry Bat says:

    Oh! To see the Willow Herd in its Annual Westward Migration… one never sees them go East because those whisperings are subterranean.

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