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.