The Beech Trees
by Theodora Goss

I was sitting among beech trees,
older than me, older than the houses around
the perimeter of the park,
with lace curtain, walls of mellow brick
dating from the last century,
but the beech trees were older,
from when this land was still wilderness,
and I had a thought, that this too —
this time we were living in — would pass,
and I would pass, and you
(but me first, hopefully),
while the beech trees would remain.
And that thought
brought me a sense of peace
deeper than understanding,
as though I were seated on sacred ground.

(The image is A Girl by a Beech Tree in a Landscape by George Price Boyce.)