Words in Trees My words are clothes to keep my psyche warm Against the cold of Night; I gird my lines And hurry forth against the chill to form My loquacious garb - the Emperor shines. When I was ten, at night I ran through trees With nothing on but shoes and skin and speed. I pause these years at shoulds and woulds of these Proprieties. I forget when I have need. Should I cast these words aside? The chill Does not taste worse when I have silent kept Vigil for the days I used to fill With youthful excess as in ferns I slept. No words can clothe Imperial lack of taste; Perhaps their lack I should pursue in haste. copyright 13 December 2000 by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw; Chattanooga.