Under the Greenwood Tree

Under the Greenwood Tree
Christopher Bogart

It sometimes seems we live our lives
Under the greenwood tree.

We see the seasons change
Entangled in its branches.
Its leaves form a canopy
That changes from the bright green of new life,
Through the deepened hue of summer eves,
To the reflected golden of each setting sun.

We lie in the dapple of its dawn,
We work and toil from early morn,
We buy and sell,
We sweat and fret as midday sun
Streams through its boughs.
We hold each new victory,
Each defeat,
Each and every life we meet,
Each love, each birth,
And, at each somber loss, we croon
To an indifferent moon.

And when each sun escapes at end of day,
We lie in the protection if its spreading arms,
And sleep in the shadows of each new night.
We dream of silent mysteries,
And wonder at the miracle
Of each new dawn.