The Morning Light Discerns The Trees

The morning light discerns the trees
Which, massed in darkness on crooked knees
Fed my melancholy and my sorrow
Continuous, I thought, long past tomorrow,
As I stumbled through the evening wood
Pondering grace and genius and good,
Those infinite twisted limbs of growth’s agony and accident—
Painful struggle without understanding—this is what the forest meant
Last night, before the morning light
Bled through the sky. Can my melancholy die?
Can I see all sorrow is illusion
By the mere appearance of the sun?



  1. Rob G said,

    April 8, 2012 at 1:39 pm

    Nice poem and pic Tommy.

  2. David said,

    April 8, 2012 at 2:22 pm

    Beautiful poem, Tom. A blessed Easter to you and yours.


  3. Argent said,

    April 8, 2012 at 9:25 pm

    Good to see a poem in the midst of all this sports madness.

    Happy Easter, from your cousin.

    • thomasbrady said,

      April 9, 2012 at 1:10 pm

      But the “sports” is just a hook
      For a poem in a book.
      Our best living poets play in this Madness—
      That people don’t like it, gives me a sadness.

      Happy Easter to you, too, cuz!

  4. Argent said,

    April 9, 2012 at 1:32 pm

    Don’t be sad;
    I meant I liked your dark Easter poem,
    Not that the madness of the sporting
    Poet-players is bad.

    Reading along, your loving cousin.

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