On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming.  When I hear drums I think of big and bold plants.  Plants with a rhythm and repetition.  Plants that present themselves as poetry.

Fearless
One two three four
Growing plants I can’t ignore
Of such great size
I lift my eyes
Branches that reach
Leaves that breach
Over the ocean
Chlorophyll in motion
Green on green
Energy unseen

Five six seven eight
Growing at an alarming rate
Bigger than me
From shrub to tree
Leaning towards the distant sun
Springing, racing, dashing, run!
The boy scout weed, always prepared from stalk to seed
Pushing, prodding, pulling, poking
Shoving, crowding, vining, choking

Nine ten eleven twelve
Over hills and into dells
Here and there, far and wide
A mix of plants on every side
On mountain slope or forest floor
Western Red Cedar I explore
Enormous and bold
Stand and take hold
A tree too tall!
Too much!
Too all!