The Tall Lombardies

Still the tall Lombardies stand

Tempering the hurricane,

Guarding fields lest once again

Wind roam master on the plain.

Pioneers, a twig in hand,

Planted dreams: Now monarchs shield--

Climbing sky--the well-tilled field.

Only time can bid them yield.

Rooted deep, they rim the land--

Two have fallen in their row.

Dreamers' children see them low,

Mourn because the past must go.