When My Baby Looks At Trees

Hilary Llewellyn-Williams


When my baby looks at trees he sees
the wind's shape;
his face becomes still
as the branches sway and dip
for his delight, as the bright
sky dances through. He stares,
his nose twitches at leaf
and resin, bark, wood-sap,
and the sweet earth.

If he could climb trees
he'd be out of my arms and up
in the creaking heights
laughing among the leaves;
he is close in my arms, but apart.
When we turn to go
his skin smells of forests, he holds
his face to the wind.