Next to the future home of the Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry is a oak tree that is over 100-years-old. In it is a treehouse that is 40-years-old. The treehouse will be an integral part of the museum, and if you dare ascend the steep steps, you will enter the Teasdale Treehouse, so named after American poet Sara Teasdale, who wrote primarily of love, life, death, and . . . nature. One of her best poems is “Blue Squills”:
And many a dancing April
When life is done with me,
Will lift the blue flame of the flower
And the white flame of the tree.
Oh burn me with your beauty, then,
Oh hurt me, tree and flower,
Lest in the end death try to take
Even this glistening hour.
O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees,
O sunlit white and blue,
Wound me, that I, through endless sleep,
May bear the scar of you.
It’s not a child’s poem, but neither must treehouses be for children. It’s a poem in the spirit of what the Teasdale Treehouse will represent: a place to relearn the beauty of the world–to let it burn you, to let it leave its mark on your life.