Category: Trees

Trees so red and yellow
Strike me strangely in the fall;
But when they’re nude, that’s different–
Just no sex appeal at all!

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 6, 1934

The shocking red-bud blossoms
That dot the spring-rinsed hills
Are the tail-lights of winter,
Fleeing daffodils.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 18, 1951

Trees stand tall and straight and proud
Lacking voice to tell aloud
How, back to the primal clod,
They see man aligned with God.
More than other life, trees can
Excuse, perhaps, the flaws in man.

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 26, 1946

She’s spring-gowned, lovely; and I think
Modesty turns our tree her pink.
Aware she’s center of the show,
A maiden blushes, even so…

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 18, 1951

There is something about a red-bud tree
That gets down deep inside of me.
It scatters, when soft new winds mill,
Its two-tone pink across the hill;
A traffic-cop upon a spree,
Stopping every passing bee;
Or neon sign, effective, clear,
Flashing madly “Spring is Here”–
(Spring settles, sighs, and tarries where
Grow red-bud garlands for her hair.)

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 18, 1951

The shocking red-bud blossoms
That shame the daffodils
Are the mad tail-lights of winter
Making off across the hills.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 18, 1951

The winter wind would often sing
Through snowy branches, and in spring,
When warm winds reached us from the west,
Our elm tree held a new bird’s nest;
Still later, as the sun grew hot,
It made me such a shady spot
Where I would sit and read and play
Every pretty summer day.
It drops off colored leaves in fall.
I guess an elm tree, after all,
Is int’resting as it can be–
And friendly, too, when you are three!

by Ray Romine Thursday, February 7, 1952

Ah, this peaceful woodland glade,
Full of shadows, full of shade;
Ah, the birds in every bough
Soothe my cares, and smooth my brow.

Then little boys with axes come
And little boys with knives;
Now, all is devastation,
And nothing survives.

Gone are all the birdies wee;
Gone, the trees, heart-rendingly;
Gone, that is, except one sapling
With a noble mission grappling:

Here must he stand, and grow to be
A tree of worthy spunk,
That kids may practice whittle-ry
Upon his ancient trunk!

by Ray Romine Sunday, April 29, 1945

God gave His Spirit, guised as trees,
For steps for man’s long climb upgrade:
For homes, for hearth, for ships, for shade,
For inspiration more than these.

by Ray Romine Thursday, November 15, 1951

God gave His Spirit, guised as trees,
For steps for man’s long climb upgrade:
For homes, for hearth, for ships, for shade,
For inspiration more than these.

by Ray Romine Thursday, November 15, 1951