The Laurel Tree

In a forest far away
hidden from the light of day
there is a lonely, ancient tree.

Green its leaves and sweet its scent
this laurel tree will never bend
but the soul inside is never free.

And blossom though the laurel may
and the hunter lost his prey
its tears are there for its kin to see.

In years to come she will remain
a silent victim of such pain
as only man could do to man.

Laurel's bark must now contain
the jagged, unexplored terrain
of anguish which a man began.

She is Lucretia, and Daphne too;
she is every woman, everywhere, who
in face of fear and immortal shame
would sooner simply cease to be
than face the unjust blame.

~*~

Part 3 of the 3 Poèmes de la Gare Montparnasse poetry cycle.