My maple tree is yellow green
Against a blue-gray sky.
In little groups of three and four
I see the restless pigeons fly.
The air is rain-washed — fresh and sweet,
Mingled with pungent scent of pine.
Kissed by the faintest glint of sun,
Amber and bronze the poplars shine.
He knew the woods — how many times
I’ve seen him tramping in the rain,
Singing among the trees he loved
The songs I’ll never hear again!
from Poetry, November 1922
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]