Deciduous Trees

After I finished Robert Frost's poems, I had to write a poem with trees as the main subject.  Frost wrote poems of beech and birch trees.  The road alongside by my residence has mostly deciduous, broad leaf trees, then fewer pine and fir trees.  I wrote the poem mostly in pentameter and hexameter.  

Deciduous Trees

I walk along the road where the deciduous trees line,

Line of spindly, leafy trees bear and abide,

Her outer barks weathered after years of washed-out wear,

Wears by nature’s storms, her cork chipped and staved,

Out of the deciduous trees, few bare her white inner rind,

Yet still through the years she goes on.

Look closer, her outer bark whittled with lines,

Arcane letters to indulge only in her eyes,

Some hewn with flinty callous gilt, they flare,

Top with broad lines, scores like Van Gogh’s as her scar,

Broad black lines-dashes-shapes, fitting foil to troughs of brine,

I walk along the road where the deciduous trees line,

And fences encircle the land where trees line,

Arches, curls, loops—beveled branches splay to the wilds,

Byproducts of man-made devices butt in, the trees curve, swerve,

While she crouches grotesquely from the post onto the lawn,

Yet still through the years she goes on,

Few grow encased in green leaves from roots to high rise,

Her outer bark, a female goddess enmeshed in atelier,

While others deform with branches entwined onto her trunk bare,

Yes, a bowing branch runs up to her midsection side,

 I walk along the road where the deciduous trees line,

On the other hand, walk further, trees with lighter lines hail hi,

But still her encrypt writing, unknown to mankind,

Since her outer bark is chiseled, a chipped-and-chopped armchair,

It is there she is alpine, on her own way,

I walk along the road where the deciduous trees line,

Yet still, through the years, she goes on.