She whispers comfort to the willow
weeping by the stream,
and converses lightly with the birch
blowing in the breeze.
In sombre tones, she asks the alder
to share his worries and his woes,
and with a teasing laugh
she gently chides the dog rose.
She bows down to the royal oak
and is confidante to the pear
to the mighty chestnut by the river
she is a listening ear.
She speaks to each of them
Then gives a voice to all the trees
She is the song of summer
The fragrant southern breeze
©Dave Kavanagh 2016