Solace Under a Tree

***Inspired by the daily prompt at with apologies to – in order of appearance – Hardy, Yeats, Frost, Blake, Frost (again), Poe, Mansfield, and Wordsworth.


Moving alone, bare-browed 

Bring me to the blasted oak 

Thereafter I sat me against a tree. 

My mother taught me underneath a tree,

“Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak.”

Thy soul shall find itself alone.

It is always there, singing most silently.

I sit upon this old grey stone and dream my time away. 


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