They stand and pose and deign to nod at any passerby,
While visitors unsought, some shy, some sly,
some strange. . .
Slip in and out and round about these who gently sigh,
And gracefully bow hello's to those
On their level, In their range.
Their poise is equal to some royal queen
The crown they wear - a verdant green
They're here not to see - only be seen
Whether blousey and full, or slim and lean.
Then something is happening - they quiver too much
As though one or another some gossip might touch
(The visitors flee each in his way
Time to be moving - can't stay here all day)
The ripples and flutters,
The murmers and mutters,
All pass through the group,
This lofty troup -
As they sway in response to the errant breeze
That just came along and tickled these trees.
