Goldfinches

filling the face of every flower: Then they drop from the sky. A buttery gold, they swing on the thistles, they gather the silvery down, they carry it in their finchy beaks to the edges of the fields, to the trees, as though their minds were on fire with the flower of one perfect idea—

Planting a Tree

What does he plant who plants a tree? A scion full of potency, He plants his faith, a prophecy Of bloom, and fruitfulness to be; He plans a shade where robins sing, Where orioles their nestlings swing; A burning bush – a miracle! Who plants a tree, – he doeth well! What does he plant