Trees For The Soul

An army of trees from the crested hills,
March down the waves to the hungry mills.
Battalioned in cunning array they stride
To the cadence called by the wind and tide
And, sensitive as a gay ballet, 
To the maestro's wand, they curve and sway
To the will of the helmsman, who leads the way...

Gill Robb Wilson
Flying Magazine  April 1957
Image result for floating logs