Bark of Popple

You are as you were
As you are. You shake
And flutter and fall.

You’re not delicate
In winter. Once bare
You don’t tremble much.

You are beautiful.
Everyone knows that.
Snow bark, golden leaves,

Pale green leaves late spring,
But always that bark
Like white light, straight up

Against the gold leaves,
Against the green leaves
Shivered by breezes,

Against grey winter,
Against azure blue,
Against snow on snow.

Why apostrophize
Mindlessly gorgeous
Acres of woods’ clones?

Why apostrophize
Earth’s beauties at all?
No reason but ache,

That sentimental,
Animal ache as
All those shivers fall.