She’s in Seine Field, east of a nearby gate,

with her arms aiming at the fearsome sky,

as if proclaiming to all the trees, and

all the birds,  all the humans, and all the

creeping beings, all the grasses, all the flowers,

all the elements of earth and sky and

all the spirits of those that came before

and the force of  those who will come after:

I am here and I am perfect!


I absorb your bright sun, and rejoice in

your stormy clouds. I shake away your salt

winds that have taken many good men down ,

and I withstand your blasts of cold and your

furious summer fires; my roots are deep

and suck the nourishment of this dear land;

my limbs, long and limber , protect my core;

my elegant needles are dense and lush.

I am here and I am perfect!


And even when that day comes when branches

drop and my limbs crack and my trunk decays;

when my glorious needles curl , yellow

and fall, when even light breezes threaten

my ability to stand straight and tall  –

even when that end day comes and I fear

I can’t provide shade to the wanderer

and home to the joyous souls of Seine Field, still

I am here and I am perfect!


©  Marty Luster 2011