The speaker is planting fir seedlings on icy hillsides while older trees creak and shed bark and cones in the wind. The falling debris feels like a warning, a small reminder of how easily things can come down. The work is cold, physical, and exposed, and the groaning trees make the setting feel precarious rather than peaceful. That unease sharpens in the final question: if one of those trees falls while the speaker’s back is bent, will they see someone again? The poem turns from an outdoor task to a quiet fear about being separated from a loved one, or from life itself. The title “Sixteen” may hint at youth, which makes the thought of an interrupted future feel especially raw. Short, clipped lines create a hushed, careful rhythm, as if the speaker is moving cautiously through the grove. The overall mood is intimate, anxious, and shadowed by mortality, but never melodramatic.
Sixteen — Summary
We plant fir seedlings across icy slopes.
Trees yet standing scrape and worry in moaning winds, showering us with bark and cones.
Will I see you again, should one of these fall while my back is bent?