Evening Poetry, January 4

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.

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