Tree
We inherited the tree fromThe previous generation,
A skinny sapling planted
Thirty-odd years ago,
Confined to a corner
Like a dunce,
Not expected to live
Beyond its first frost.
How time flies, how nature confounds,
Now the tree has a hearty girth,
Three sprawling trunks that rise
Into the airy yonder
Like Jack's beanstalk,
A generous giant casting
Its autumnal gold.
One day we will have to leave
This spot, vacate the space,
Perhaps when the tree is naked
Or when it wears its verdant finery,
Bare or bountiful, the tree will see
Us migrate to anotherr place,
And it will wait patiently for the
Seeding of the next generation.
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 324 times
Written on 2020-04-26 at 18:03
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