When Great Trees Fall

MAYA ANGELOU

When great trees fall, Great souls die and rocks on distant hills shudder, our reality, bound to

lions hunker down them, takes leave of us.

in tall grasses,

Our souls,

and even elephants

dependent upon their nurture,

lumber after safety.

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

When great trees fall

and informed by their

in forests,

radiance,

small things recoil into silence,

fall away.

their senses

We are not so much maddened

eroded beyond fear. as reduced to the

unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves.

When great souls die, the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile. And when great souls die, We breathe, briefly. after a period peace blooms,

Our eyes, briefly,

slowly and always

see with irregularly. Spaces fill a hurtful clarity. with a kind of Our memory, suddenly sharpened, soothing electric vibration.

examines, Our senses, restored, never

gnaws on kind words to be the same, whisper to us.

unsaid, They existed. They existed.

promised walks We can be. Be and be never taken. better. For they existed.