The trees of Jerusalem

 The world of Action
Denied hospitality
To the trees of Jerusalem.
The roots of gangly pines
Swallow their own tails
In the dry crunchy darkness.
A tightly coiled spring,
Nourished by the ringing air,
The ancient pine of the Prophets Street
A battle for Jerusalem witness,
Still shudders to remember
The Jordanian brigade's boots;
It bears the scars
Received from explosions.
Kissing the shadows of the prophets,
It sings ancient anthems
Its voice blending
With the sad murmur of rabbis
Who live rooted Above,
Confined in thick concrete  
In the stuffy lower worlds,
Pining for Redemption
Sprouting from the Root.