Pine Trees

Let's face it: in this poem, the pines are where it's at, y'all. This where the good poetry seems to take place, as opposed to the stale and formulaic poetry that the speaker seems to have been guilty of in life. These trees are a metaphor for good and vibrant poetry, while the lame old rose represents that tired stuff that has nothing to say to us (check out "Symbols: The Rose"). It seems that, in death, our speaker almost seems to want to return to this mystical place, to experience the same kind of poetic prominence that his idols did. But he can't. Poor Petit has perished, pals, and so he must pine for the pines in perpetuity.

• Line 4: This is our first clue that the pines are the seat of true art. Somehow (it's never quite explained) this mystical tree is capable of whipping up the dry ticking of the seeds into a full-on symphony—far out.
• Line 18: You'll never guess who's in the pines now: it's Homer and Walt Whitman, two giants of poetry. They're not just hanging out there, either; they're "roar[ing] in the pines." (What, did someone invite Katy Perry?) It seems like this is the place to express your poetry to the fullest.