In Trackless woods, it puzzled me to find

four great rock maples seemingly aligned,

as if they had been set out in a row

before some house a century ago,

To edge the property and lend some shade.

I looked to see if ancient wheels had made

old ruts to which these trees ran parallel,

but there were none, so far as I could tell

There’d been no roadway. Nor could I find the square

depression of a cellar anywhere,

And so I tramped on further, to survey

amazing patterns in a hornbeam spray

or spirals in a pinecone, under trees

not subject to our stiff geometries.  


Richard Wilbur