Poem of the week: Late Trees
by Geraldine Mitchell
after Philip Larkin
The trees are standing still and grey
Like ships unrigged and calcified;
Their trunks shine ghostly at first light,
No breath or breeze to make them sway.
So what if they’ve already died
While we live on? Well, we’ll die too.
Same golden sunsets, sparkling dew,
Just no one on the mountainside.
It’s past midday, the tall masts silent stacks.
Ravaged and reproachful as Gethsemane,
‘You made us thus,’ they seem to say,
‘Go back, go back, go back.’
Geraldine Mitchell’s third collection, “Mountains for Breakfast”, was published by Arlen House in 2017