The mulberry trees dream



While wild vines wind their ropes of scarlet fire

About the poplars on the bank

And leaves fall pale and thin as wintry sun

The mulberries hold up leaves of glossy green

To catch the failing heat before the season’s done.


Their roots delve deep into the dark

To drink from wells of a forgotten source

Cold and pure beneath the desert sands

Where golden memories sleep in tombs of tumbled stone

Fallen walls of cities built by servile hands.


Running water sings in cool dug earth

And laughs in fountained gardens’ cloistered shade

That echoed once with songs of sweet despair

Of birds in gilded cages hung beneath the trees

Their notes still ringing in the dusty desert air.




On the eve of autumn at the turning of the year

The mulberries remember summer’s song

And raise their boughs to listen to the rhyme

As crystal water courses through the earth

Murmuring stories of stone basins cracked with time.


Rocked by memories of summers past

The mulberry trees prepare their winter fast

To sleep and dream of Persian sands

And times when scented forests cast a soothing shade

Beneath the everlasting sun of antique lands.