A thousand years old
If your skin is bark
And your fingers needles
Pines breathe in air
And exhale the essence
Of Christmas
They are magicians
Swirling snow showers
With stuttering clarity
They harbor darkness in summer
Incanting the mystery
Of winter nights
They wear snow well
As bridal gowns
Softly spiraling
To the ground
They keep secrets
Of their own
Silent and profound
No one understands the trees
And fewer ken the pines
They are totems in the woods
Oracles in a mossy shrine