Four from the Berggarten, Hannover

Araucaria

How far north Hannover lies, not many miles withdrawn
From the cold Baltic sea, its train of shadowy islands,
Open to the north wind that sweeps unanswered, unopposed
Down from the Lüneburg Heath like a clan of brigands.

Yet in the Duke of Hannover's Mountain Garden,
Outside the close-built greenhouse, pane upon pane
Of sun-inducing glass, outside the walls that shine,
One Araucaria tree remains, despite its exile. Constant

Winter after winter, it holds its ground, flourishing
Sabre branches, parrying the wind's invisible swords,
Blown snow, icy rain, lightning, as if it still stood
Rooted, at home, on Patagonia's mild pacific shore.



Weeping Cedar

Stopping beside an oddly fashioned tree,
I check the label: it's a Trauerzeder.
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