The Palm

The Palm

The tree against which the whistler leans
Is tall and elegant.
Wide at the base where it is rooted
It rises, slimming
To take the eye to the sky.
It is softly mottled near its base
In delicate splashes of bronze and silver.
Concentric rings which chart its life
Stretch ever upward
To where they burst into verdant fullness.
The tree widens here, like pregnant hips
Then slims in smooth symmetry
To its spreading fronds
Which arc in a glorious crown
To taste the sun and whisper to the breeze.
That is where the eye lingers
Taking in the sheer wonder
Of its beauty.

Alan Turpie