The Greater Forest

by Ursula K. Le Guin

At root, at deep root they meet,

the honey-locust out at McCoy Creek,

the Valley oak above the barn

at Kishamish, the large-armed

horsechestnut that stood on our street

towering with white torches in late May,

Coast Range firs that green the wind with pollen,

dwarfed and gnarled flowering plums

of childhood, all of them, fallen

or standing, ancient forests before Rome

and shadowy woodlands yet to come,

they rise from the same deep root,

leaf out in the one light of day.