The Singing, Ringing Tree
T Tom Billsborough
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From the singing, ringing tree
Tall winds reap plaintive melodies
On a wild moor,
High above the valley floor.
Aeolian music whispering
Sonic magic by fate alone
Ringing through the hollow steel tubes
Of varying lengths and disparate angles
That suggest the structure
Of a gale-tormented tree.
Echoes by its random, melancholy sounds
Cathy's ghostly low refrains
Calling vainly for Heathcliff again and again
Across the purple haze of indifferent heather.
Or Orpheus' muted lyre mourning
His final loss of Eurydice.
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