Related quotes: When forests of romance dance...

When Forests Dance Before Me

When forests of romance dance before me
My sense of pleasure, explores with fervour
'Tis my instinct to explore a forest.........dark
Seek its sweet treasured path and endulge

Willow's tree unfurls, her tear-dropp branches
Adorning her majesty....with graceful spread
Embracing all that lies.......before my senses
Ensconced in the smooth of her velvet drape

When leaves befall their shedding....over me
Blanketing my fancy like sheaths of fine linen
Suddenly you appear and i am lost within you
Love, you are th' branches...of my forest deep

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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The Willow Tree (…from “1001 Very Short Fairytales”, Story #97)

There was this little willow tree,
That lived for many seasons;
It had its branches wild and free,
Without giving any reasons.

Then this woodsman came along
And said to the tree, it just couldn't
Have these wild branches,
He would have to chop them all away,
But the little willow tree just wouldn't
Give in;
So the woodsman,
Cut it down the very next day.

And now the forest has lost its soul,
Of everlasting wilderness
And beauty.

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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My Favorite Tree

My Favorite Tree
by Margaret Carlisle

Deep in the forest I searched for a tree,
A special one which most appealed to me.
I looked around and suddenly found,
A beautiful pine, that was round
At the bottom and pointed on top,
Its branches knew just when to stop,
To form that classic Christmas-tree-look,
It's beauty, its bark, its fragrance, it took
My senses on a pleasure cruise,
And its memory I shall never lose.

poem by Margaret Carlisle
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The Willow Tree

In the graveyard stands a willow tree,
You can hide within its branches,
And it will keep you safe,
And it will keep you warm,
And it will keep all your demons at bay,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,

As I look out through its branches,
I see people crying for their loved ones,
Tears rolling down their faces,
I want to shout to them,
And let them in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,

But I can’t, I can’t let them in,
Even though I know their suffering,
Because it’s the living that hurt you,
And I don’t want too be hurt anymore,
So only my dead friends are in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
The willow tree.

poem by Darren Harris
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The Giving Tree

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Willow Tree

I am a Willow Tree, that sways gently in the wind
I am a Willow Tree, who has no limits.

I am a Willow Tree, who has long and beautiful branches
I am a Willow Tree, who provides shade and comfort.

I am a Willow Tree, who can be placed anywhere
I am a Willow Tree, I whisper in the wind.

I am a Willow Tree, you think I'm very free
I am a Willow Tree, don't ever want to be me.

poem by Lucy Gocher
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No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!

Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Nearly Ripe

Nearly ripe, these green apples
hang heavy
from our bursting tree,
the warm evening sun
glinting through swaying branches.

They will be ready
in about a week.

Then I’ll slice them into sweet crescents
And their taste will dance upon your tongue
with all the secrets our tree has been keeping,
its living leaves,
its smooth, grey bark,
its very roots
grasping deep
into our dark soil,

and these glowing, green apples
I will make bare and white and moist,
a love offering like perfect wine for you,
and your taste will delight
in the sweet, green love
of the earth.

poem by Steven Federle
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Self Portrait

The willow tree stands alone.
It grows alone, relying only on the Sun and the Rain.

This willow tree offers shade.
It only shades during the day, casting a monster
of a shadow in the mornings and evenings,
its size shrinking in between. Its shadow
is solid in some places, but has empty
places of sunlight dotting the ground beneath
it, allowing room for purity among the darkness.

This willow tree is immune to the Wind.
It bends whichever way it needs to survive,
sacrificing its tiny leaves to be carried away.

This willow tree is a home.
Small birds build nests on its branches,
laying eggs that will bring new Life to the World.
The nest is supported. Some things of little
weight can be supported, but anything that drags
the branches too close to the ground
will be dropped so the tree can be saved.

This willow tree is weak.
As it grows, its branches come closer and closer
to the ground, for it cannot support the weight
of itself anymore. It cannot help its own soul.
With one swing of an ax, the tree will be felled.
It will be finished, left there to be eaten
and burrowed in and rotted away by the Earth.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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Samuel Gardner

I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Lonely Tree

A lonely tree
On a lonely hill
Wishes to be
A forest still
Thou all alone
It dreams of more
Of seedlings grown
From its forest floor
Their branches growing
Ever climbing high
So feverish flowing
To reach blue sky
Covering this land
Beyond its view
A forest grand
All fresh and new
A sight to behold
It would surely be
A dream so bold
For such a lonely tree.
“closing thought”
A family is like a forest that continues to grow
From a lone simple seedling it outwardly flows

poem by Gordon Jerome
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Farewell of a Cottonwood

Almost for a century
A majestic cottonwood tree,
Lonely and salutary,
Waved its leafy branches to the sky,
Adorning the corner where
St. Catherine Street
And Lansdowne Avenue meet
In Montreal.

This giant old poplar of the city
Survived urban growth
And the spread of factories.
It towered to soothe, not to seethe,
Truly a magnificent poem in chlorophyll
Which helped the people of Westmount
To breathe.

Yet the tree had been assaulted
By the stress of pollution
By severe ice storms and draughts,
By its advanced age and exfoliation.

And so on an early summer day
You could hear the screech of metal claws,
The high-pitched whine
Of powerful chainsaws.

The poplar
With its deeply grooved gray-brown bark
Began to tremble.
The petioles on the branches looked dark.
Their serrated triangular leaves
Tried to prance
As they danced their last dance
Saying farewell to the city
And to the world.

poem by Paul Hartal
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The Shy Christmas Tree And The Hundred Fairy Lights

Now the Christmas tree sits shyly
In the corner of the room,
Like a shining beam of brightness
In the dismal winter gloom,
All aglow with tiny twinkles
Of a hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

Shiny tinsel shimmers sparkling,
Twined around like silver string,
While the multicoloured baubles
Turn around and gently swing,
All reflecting light and glitter
From the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

Stuck tight to the top’s a fairy
In her ballerina dress;
As to what she might be thinking
You will have to try and guess:
Is she looking on with longing
At the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights?

There are presents for the grown-ups
Underneath the Christmas tree
But there’s nothing for the children
Who will have to wait and see
What old Santa has got for them
While the hundred fairy lights
Dance around shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

He will go collect his reindeer
And pack presents on his sleigh
And then fly among the moonbeams,
Just before it’s Christmas day,
Guided by the twinkling starshine
Bright as all those fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

He will wait until each infant
Is tucked up so tight asleep,
For they mustn’t ever catch him
And they mustn’t ever peep
Till he vanishes in stardust
Glittering bright as fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

And then, when it’s Christmas morning,
At the bottom of each bed
There will be a pile of presents
For each smiling, happy head
That sees toys and gifts, as welcome
As the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

And they’ll hurry down the staircase
For their breakfast and they’ll see
That the Christmas tree is smiling,
Joining in with all their glee
As it shakes, with happy laughter,
All its hundred fairy lights
Which dance round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

But the Christmas tree grows sadder,
For the next twelve days will fly
And then Christmas will be over
And it’s time to say goodbye,
Though it’s thankful for the friendship
Of the hundred fairy lights
Which danced round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.

But one of its relations,
In a forest, far away,
Waits, in keen anticipation,
For next year’s Christmas day
When it stands, proud, in the corner
With a hundred fairy lights
To dance round brave, waving branches
In the dark December nights.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Song from Aella

O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be: