The Trees

by LT. JOHN BUXTON

Oflag VII B, Germany

THE elm tree like a fountain of light
Flings green jets to misty height;
Stars came dabbling there one night.
But yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.

The birch tree with her tender skin
Shivers before the storms begin,
Yet gives sweet shade to loiter in.
But yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.

The red roots of the willow keep
A pool below them dark and deep
Where you may see the trout asleep.
But yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.

Even the oak tree sturdy and proud
That takes the thunder for his shroud
Has sheltered us from many a cloud.
But yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.

And though the ash tree may entomb
A shrew that witched the cattle’s womb,
What’s that but some small creature’s doom?
But yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.

A path leads there, and seems to glide
Into the wood, as if to hide:
No path leads out the other side.
And yonder where the dark trees grow
Day nor night we do not go.