Nik Boyd
Since ancient days they spin,
scattered along the valley floor
as if carelessly cast out by Artemis
as she danced through
on some lunatic night.
What uncommon inner light
caused these trees to grow
with dervish delight?
What moved these few,
so gifted by grace,
to savor their space
and spin in place
across the centuries?
These spritely and spirited seeds sprang to life,
and lept up with such alacrity,
limbs uplifted into the vasted sky
throughout their history.
The spirit turns in them so strongly
to show this outer shape
that twists their bark and bodies
as they rise into the sky they scrape.
Here and there these scattered few
dance in seeming unison.
Each radiates a singular quality,
as if lived as a single form,
but shown as many,
repleat and repeated.
As many men may pass them by
and notice not their state,
they only show one reason why
they're caught up in their fate.
Enfolded in the love of sky
and sun and moon and earth
they stand within the valley
upon the ground that gave them birth.
Though standing still to mundane eyes
they spin within the years gone by
and all those yet to come.
Brown skinned and green haired ladies all
whirling and twirling in naked delight
whirling and twirling in every core
whirling and twirling forevermore.