The Tulip Tree
by William Stafford
Many a winter night
the green of the tulip tree
lives again among the other trees,
returns through miles of rain
to that level of color
all day pattered, wind-wearied,
calmly asserted in our yard.
Only pale by the evergreen,
hardly distinguished by leaf or color,
it used to slide a little pale from other trees
and – no great effect at our house –
it sustained what really belonged
but would, if severely doubted,
disappear.
Many a winter night
it arrives and says for moment:
“I am still here.”
You can find this poem in Poems About Trees.
