The Isle of Ghostly Trees

(To Father Hubbard, the “Glacier Priest”)

The isle of ghostly trees: bleak trees whose souls

Visibly tread the too eternal dark!

Seething volcanoes whose dim, poisonous bowls

Breathe in the trees a strange, new, vital spark!

Shrill-glaring torches flaunt the scarry shoals

Of lone Alaska’s fire-shriven park:

Flaunt with emblazoned face the tragic tolls

Of brave explorers who have failed their mark.

This isle presents an awesome paradox:

A further proof of the immortal plan

That life in very dying conquers death.

An iridescent flame transcends the rocks,

As from the soul of a forgotten man,

And stirs the trees with spiritual breath.

* * * * *

Evelyn Coffey