The Weeping Hemlock

(inspired by Sargent~Downing Gardens)

Her arching boughs in genuflecting form, 

With bent cascading branches sweeping low,

Which shade from noon-day scorch and shield from storms,

Like angel's wings enfolding fledgling souls,

The lives which thrive beneath her watchful care,

Their growth bestowed by her intrepid stance,

She weeps in neither longing nor despair,

But vigilantly guards her ward's advance,

The small who scurry, the minute who crawl,

The nestling, nary hatched, too weak to fly, 

All thrive below her green gown's flowing fall,

She speaks in neither grieving wail nor cry,

But lullabies of softly rustling winds,

Which coax her cradled children unto sleep,

Through swaying sprays and softly creaking limbs,

'Tis but a mother's love which makes her weep.