Up near the top where the trunk tapers slim?
Where you cling to the bark with a white-knuckle grip
As it pitches and rolls like the deck of a ship?
Have you ever sat where the mourning dove grieves?
Looked out on a view that's framed by the leaves?
Where the comings and goings of things here and there
Are plain to your sight from so high in the air?
Have you ever slept in the riotous trees?
Have you been rocked to sleep by the force of the breeze?
Have you laid out your roll in the quiet recess
Of a woodpecker's hole or an old robin's nest?
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