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The
Larch and the Pine
A
dark, sturdy pine and a fair graceful larch
Grew
on the banks of a clear mountain stream.
Over
the water their boughs made an arch:
There
they remained in a comradely dream.
Nothing
came near but the fox and the deer,
Sometimes
a fisherman casting his line.
Always
the murmur of water would cheer
The
fair, graceful larch and the dark, sturdy pine.
When
the wind lifted the larch would be gay
Tossing
her delicate sprays in the sun.
Sighing,
the motionless pine tree would say
“Soon,
pretty larch, will your dancing be done.”
Then
came the winter; the larch tree was bare,
Trembling
and cold in the pitiless blast.
Shouting
defiance the pine would declare
“Courage,
dear sister, it soon will be past.”
So,
through the seasons their destinies twine.
Often
I see them when hillwards I roam.
Long
may they flourish, the larch and the pine,
Long, ages long, after I have gone home.
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