Set 1 - 28th July

Passing 'neath the

Canopy of leaves

Eyes fixed high up

Somewhere round its middle.

From outside one perceives

That the leaves are a pale dark fuschia

Or lilac-red, higher up.

A sweet perfumed breeze passes by

Wafting honeysuckle past one's nostrils

Some branches touching nearly ground

Others stretching up

Sixty feet or more.

A hundred feet around,

I pass down along the gravel path

Beneath the leaves; I duck my head

And turn face upwards - the twisting bulk of the old tree

Surrounded by an iron fence

In a ring to keep the old signs safe

Upon the lower tree; inside the rim

A plaque declares, this, a copper beech

The Autograph Tree. Yeats, Yeats, G.B. Shaw,

And others;

A silent ring of barbed wire watches

That no one get in from above

But it is the complex form of the main tree draws my eyes

Gentle leaves hanging down at random

But with such grace -

The canopy above, twenty foot dome

Of green, the lilac seen slightly out beyond

And when I've done, the wind does seem to say

Rustling through the native trees of Coole

Still William's tree will tower over all,

Moss growing on its trunk,

A multitude of limbs out every way

And thus this soft whisper of singular grove

Declares that it has no future plans to move

Save for the quiet rustling of the lilac-red

And green within.

Past the A.T.'s lower boughs

Looking inward and around

The garden lawn of Coole -

I see the grass, pale green and neatly cut

The shapely bushes sitting 'cross the field

And bottoms of the trees. I see

Turning eyes to lissom limbs above

How the lilac-red and the silent green

(Darkened by the higher leaves o'erhead)

Sway gently back and forth, back and forth

Lulling gentle friends to whispered 'sleep'.

The whispering wind increases; for but a moment

I see the leafy forms of this one tree canopy

Move irregular arches back and forth

And then the wind retreats

Retreating, to the trees across the lawn

Where a quiet 'hist' must content the ear

Telling one to listen to the voices in the wind

Who shall speak again, but once the breeze picks up.

I'm gazing upwards and holding a monkey wrench-shaped piece of wood

And as I sit here under the A.T. I know I should

Prepare to leave, be off, to go

But I sit here below

And though my companions are getting irritated

I gaze to see how softly shifting strong tree limbs & leaves, lilac/pink and green are integrated

Here I lie. I sigh,

For the tree here is high

And the wind is interestingly scented

This peaceful grove of peace is painted here

So you'll have to come near

For the space beneath the Autograph Tree cannot be remotely rented.

Its leaves were lilac-maroon all

I pause, going across the lawn

I was passing here to leave, however

Quite this much purple therupon

60 feet of copper beech leaves never

Had I seen looking quite so big and tall.

Once there were some trees unwary

Perhaps they'd once been topiary

But some strong wind rising up from the ground

Has left them like this, and I have found

Twelve twenty-five-foot trees arrayed and tall

Like twelve inverted parasol.

Some existential benches

Are arrayed throughout Coole Park

Waiting for unwary fools

After it gets dark.

For if one blindly tries to sit

One will fall into a bind

As no seat was e'er supplied

To furnish one's behind.